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by darwinzfinchez



Series: The Wolf Cub [3]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Characters of colour written by white chick, Disabled Character, Disabled Character written by Able bodied Author, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Fic, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Characters written by straight girl, M/M, Menstruation, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Violence, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinzfinchez/pseuds/darwinzfinchez
Summary: Once Agron and Nasir settle in the mountains of Germany with their adopted daughter, their troubles are not yet over





	1. Bed

Once we were ensconced in our own house, settled permanently rather than transient guests of Ulf, the other farmers and villagers began to treat us with less caution and more friendliness. Where before Ulf had been the only one who went out of his way to help us and ensure we had all that we needed, now other people, seeing us in need, sought to provide us with what we lacked, where they found themselves well supplied. Each family from the town and the surrounding area, it seemed, offered us some seeds, or tools, or an old dress that their youngest daughter had grown out of, or a promise to allow us to make use of their horse drawn plough when planting season came along. Most importantly, to me at least, the bowmaker gave us one of the puppies his dog had just had. In time, going by her mother’s size, she would be a huge and fearsome beast, but for now she was just a playful, cowardly ball of fluff, forever chasing her tail and fallin over her too-big feet. One such gift was a mattress, old and threadbare and requiring a little more stuffing, but otherwise a fine bed.

               “For you.” the giver said, pointedly, to me, as Agron and Nasir examined it. Usually unembarrassable, I looked away, and scuffed my feet on the floor.In truth, I had noted that Frieda and Kristof, and a number of other children even younger than me, slept in their own beds, or shared with their siblings. Seven was generally considered too old to yet sleep in one’s parents’ bed. But, in truth, I had grown so used to falling to sleep in the arms of one of my parents, and waking with them on either side of me, that the thought of sleeping alone filled me with dread. And, of course, there was the matter of the nightmares. Oddly enough, during the time when Agron, Nasir and I were travelling, and sleeping out in the open, I had been used to sleeping deep and dreamless. Now, though, that we slept in safety, I woke each night, sometimes several times, having been chased from the realms of sleep by horrors from my past. I could always fall back to sleep, though, by rolling over and cuddling up to Agron or Nasir, whoever was nearest, until he grunted in his sleep and threw an arm over me. I could not imagine how I could possibly cope with sleeping in a bed of my own when I was yet haunted by such things.

 

Nasir tried to broach the subject with me – you know, Elena, you are growing so big now, soon there will not be room for three of us in the same bed; surely you would prefer to have more room to stretch out; wouldn’t you prefer to sleep in silence, absent mine and Agron’s snoring – but I dug my heels in and refused to listen. He looked to Agron for support, but Agron would always become suddenly deaf and bow his head in extreme concentration, though the bit of darning he was engaged on was simple, and did not require his full attention.

            And so, the mattress intended for my bed served instead as a seat for myself, and whichever one of Agron and Nasir was not sitting in our one chair. More than once, when Agron and Nasir sat up talking in the evening, I fell to slumber, waking in bed the following morning. I endeavoured, once threatened with ejection to my own bed, to remain awake until we all retired, but one night I was particularly tired, and what I had feared came to pass – Nasir and Agron took advantage of my slumber to put me to bed in the main room, retiring themselves to our bedroom. They had thought, that once I had slept through the night in my own bed, I would awaken in the morning and no longer be afraid to sleep alone, but it was not to be.

            The man loomed towards me, his hand twisting in my hair, and my struggles only made his hand pull tighter.

            “Now I have you, you little bitch!” he sneered, and I thought, up until the last moment, that someone would save me, someone would knock the sword from his hand, or his head from his neck, and rescue me, but it was not to be, and I felt the cold steel of his sword slide into my gut and twist-

            I started awake so violently I almost threw myself onto the floor. Groping blindly in the dark, I could not find Nasir or Agron, only empty mattress. Mad with fear, my first thought was that they had been killed.

            “Nasir?” I whispered, and as I did so my eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark, and I recognised the furniture of the main room of our house. “Agron?” There was no reply, and I realised that they yet slumbered on the other side of the door. I briefly considered standing and going to them, but the fear hanging over from my dream was too great.

            “Nasir! Agron!” I cried, and my voice cracked, and I began to sob. “Nasir! Agron! Please!”

            I heard a shuffling noise, and voices on the other side of the door, though I could not make out words. Satisfied that they were awake, I curled up on my lonely bed and cried, waiting for one of them to come to me.

            It was Nasir who burst through the door, Nasir who rushed across the room to kneel at my side.

            “Elena, my love, what is it? A noise? An intruder? Or was it only a bad dream?”

            I cried louder when he said “bad dream” and he, mercifully understood, and cradled me to him, rocking back and forth and making shushing noises.

            “There there, Elena, no need for tears. Only a dream, you are quite safe.”

            I wound my arms around around his neck and clung as tightly as I could without choking him, whimpering when he tried, gently, to dislodge me. After a couple of attempts, I felt him sigh resignedly, and he secured me more tightly to him before beginning to straighten up.

            “Agron! Elena is coming to sleep in our bed.”

            I heard a noise of assent, and then Nasir stood and carried me through to the bedroom, where I was dimly aware of Agron drawing closer, comfortingly rubbing my shoulders and kissing the top of my head as he asked Nasir what had happened.

            “She had a bad dream.” Nasir said wearily. “Come. Let us return to sleep.”

            Nasir set me down in the centre of the bed, and climbed in next to me, Agron climbing in on the other side. I felt them both kiss the top of my head, and half-heard them both murmuring good nights, but sleep was already pulling me under.

 

Slowly, slowly, the days grew a little longer, a little warmer. Some of the places where we walked a lot – the yard outside the house, the track up to the well – the snow was trodden away, and the new snowfall was too light to replace it. More snow retreated from the edges of the paths, and we saw the grass again – short, and dry, and brown, but still there after months of being covered with snow.

            It was a good thing that the grass reappeared when it did, for our stock of hay was running very low, and almost as soon as the grass began to reappear, our stock of grazing goats doubled, as one of our does unexpectedly lay down on her side and, with much moaning and groaning which frightened all of us half to death, brought four tiny kids into the world.

 

“Frieda!”

            “Elena!” Nasir exclaimed, exasperated, as I dropped the bit of wood I had been holding for him and bolted to the two figures just appearing over the crest of the hill – Ulf and Frieda, come for an unexpected visit.

            After such a long parting, even Frieda was too excited to be really composed, and greeted me with a boisterous embrace. Ulf, however, did not intend to stay, having meant only, now that so much of the snow had melted, to ensure we were all well and not in dire need, before returning to his own farm to make necessary repairs to weather-damaged buildings. He proposed that Frieda stay and play with me for a few hours, to be walked back to her home before dark by Agron or Nasir

            Taking advantage of the newly visible grass, now that the snow was mostly gone, at least from the lower fields, Frieda and I sat together on the grass and talked. She told me of the occasion of great excitement in her house over the winter – she had been sent out to feed the chickens one winter morning, and on returning to the house had heard a huge commotion in the yard. When her father investigated, he found a half-starved wolf tearing apart one of their chickens, and chased it off with help from Kristof. It must have been sitting and watching as Frieda went about in the yard, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I shared something with her that had not passed my lips once, not even to Agron or Nasir.

            “Someone did try to kill me once.” I said. “A Roman.”

            Frieda studied me, silent.

            “He grabbed me by the hair and tried to kill me with a sword, but the – but my mother killed him and he let me go.”

            I expected Frieda to be impressed, but her mouth twisted in displeasure and she glared at me.

            “It’s naughty to tell lies.” she said.

            “What?”         

            “You shouldn’t tell silly stories and pretend they’re true. It’s very naughty.”

            “It isn’t – it’s true!”

            “Stop it! Or I’ll tell Nasir.”

            “No!” My usual standard of behaviour, especially compared to Frieda’s, meant that Nasir was compelled to believe any report of bad behaviour, usually listening unimpressed to my testimony though there might be a grain of truth in the wild exaggerration.

            Frieda studied me carefully, and shrugged.

            “Lets play something else.” she said, her tone indicating that she was still annoyed, but willing to let me work to get back in her favour.

 

Frieda usually insisted that I played the father, and she the mother, but this time she sought to punish me for my “lying” by casting herself as the imperilled princess and me as the ravening monster. We could barely play for any time at all without her correcting me, rolling her eyes as I made stupid mistakes which I did not know well enough to spot.

            “No!” she said eventually. “You’re doing the same voice you did when you were a prince, but you’re meant to be _scary._ Be _scary_.”

            Without warning, I twisted one of her braids around my hand, and raised my stick (which was standing in for a sword) threateningly.

            “Now I have you.” I snarled, in a half-remembered voice, quite unlike my own. “You little bitch.”

            And she screamed and screamed and would not stop fucking screaming, and Nasir came running down the field and pulled me off her, and as he helped her to her feet and looked at me as if he did not recognise me, I realised that I was in worse trouble than I had ever been in before in my life.

 

We stood in silence before the fire, stomachs occasionally growling, as Agron and Nasir stared at me and I stared defiantly at the floor.

            “Elena.” Nasir said at length, and I turned my head to look at the wall. Usually when I did that, Agron laughed, but tonight he made no sound.

            “Elena... why? What possessed you to attack little Frieda like that? I thought the two of you were friends.”

            I remained silent, unable to put the reason into words.

            “ _Elena_.” Nasir said, more firmly.

            “She told me to!” I squeaked.

            “She _told_ you to.” Nasir said incredulously.

            “I was being a monster! She was being a princess, I thought it was part of the game, I thought she was only pretending to cry...”

            “Well...” Agron began, happy to grasp at the explanation that showed me in a good light.

            “She’s _lying_ , Agron!” Nasir exclaimed, frustrated. He knelt in front of me and took hold of my wrist to stop me turning away from him.

            “Look at me.” he commanded, and I looked at the ground, sure that if I looked in his eyes, saw the anger and disappointment there, I would cry.

            “What did she do?” Nasir demanded. “You may have lied to me before, about how the goats got out of their pen, or why you haven’t fed them like I asked, but you don’t attack people absent provocation – what did she do?”

            “She – she – she called me a liar!” and just as I had thought, I was crying, big gulping sobs that I could barely breathe through.

            “She did what?” Nasir sounded confused, but took me onto his lap, sitting back on my bed, and rocked me back and forth. “Well – well, Elena, you know you do sometimes tell lies. Remember when you told me the goats had let themselves out of their pen? And when you said that you hadn’t fed them because the puppy ran off with the feed bag?”

            “No!” I wailed. “She said I was lying about the Roman!”

            “The what?” Agron crouched beside me.

            “I’m s-sorry, I know I shouldn’t have t-told, but – but – I told her about before, when we were in the Alps, when Lupa died.”

            “Fuck.” Nasir said emphatically.

            “I doubt they would sell us to Roman slavers now, even if the girl does tell her parents about us.”

            I howled louder at this, and Nasir stroked my back and shushed me.

            “Pay him no heed, Elena, he is only in jest.” I could feel Nasir’s jaw moving as he mouthed something to Agron over the top of my head, but I did not care.

            “What did you tell her, Elena?” Nasir asked.

            “I told her – a-about the Roman who killed the Wolf. And he took me by the hair and said – “N-now I have you, you l-little – bitch!” and he was going to cut off my head, but she stopped him, so he-he-he killed her!”

            “Fuck!” Agron moved closer to wrap an arm around me as best he could as I sat curled on Nasir’s lap. Nasir, for his part, seemed to have frozen, his grip slackening somewhat as I sat, half-cradled by him, half by Agron.

            “I... how did you never speak to us of this before?” Nasir asked, and I blinked, and it was only then that I realised that I hadn’t.

            “You never asked.” I replied, honestly, and Nasir’s grip on me tightened as his cheek came down to rest on my head.

            “Apologies.” Agron said. “We... we thought you had told us all that you wanted to tell.”

            “Did it make you feel better?” Nasir asked. “Did hitting Frieda, frightening her, lessen your pain at the loss of the wolf?”

            I knew that the true answer was no, and also that that was precisely what Nasir wanted me to say, and so I kept silent.

            “It will not heal you, it will not lessen your suffering, to inflict suffering on others. If you... if there are other memories from your past that pain you, you can speak of them to me or Agron. We are both of us better than Frieda at knowing when you are lying, and we know enough of your past... some of what seems unbelievable to her, we will not struggle to accept.”

            I nodded, my throat still thick with tears, and then unexpectedly yawned wide.

            “Time for bed, I think.” Agron said fondly, straightening up and extending a hand for me. I thought about reaching out and taking it, but then –

            “No.” I said, decisively. “I will sleep out here.”

            “You will?” Nasir seemed puzzled.

            “Do you not want me to? You have been trying to persuade me to sleep on my own since we got the new bed.” I pointed out. Nasir and Agron only looked at each other, and I felt a faint stirring of power in my assertion of my own maturity.

            “Elena – if you wish, then sleep by yourself, by all means. Yet, if you would prefer, after such a trying day, to sleep in our bed, we would be agreeable.”

            I wavered for a moment, but decided to stand firm and, puzzled and – I thought – slightly hurt, Nasir and Agron retreated to the bedroom. Sitting on my own mattress, I realised for the first time the reality of sleeping alone all night long, and my courage almost failed me, until I heard a pitiful whimper from under one of the chairs. Peering in the low light, I saw the puppy sitting under the chair, possibly unaware that I was there, confused and frightened by this change to the usual night time routine.

            “Komme, Ada.” I said firmly and, looking up and seeing me, she bumbled delightedly over to me, licking my face. I wrapped my arms around her and stroked her, reminding myself that I had to be brave, so that Ada would learn how to be a brave guard dog.

            “Sleep now, Ada.” I said, putting her firmly on the end of the mattress next to my feet. She obediently lay down, and stayed there until I had crawled under the rough blankets and pulled them up under my chin. Then she crawled slyly up the bed, fetching up next to me, with her nose just under my chin, curled into my front. Feeling a warm, comforting weight next to me, I felt the exhaustion of the long and tiring day pulling me into sleep.


	2. Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to market proves too much for Elena's temper to handle

Each month, as the moon began to wane, there was a market in the main village, which I always looked forward to with great anticipation, as my only opportunity to play with other children, and which Agron and Nasir remained ambivalent about. However, as we slowly began to be seen less as strangers, we were treated with less suspicion and more curiosity, yet Agron and Nasir were reluctant for our backgrounds to be known in any detail.

            It must have been obvious to anyone that we had escaped from slavery in Rome, but we wished not to draw attention to it. Tales of the rebellion – of Spartacus – had not made their way north yet, but in the fullness of time they might, and when they did people would look at Nasir and Agron’s battle scars and wonder. And, though Romans passed through Northern Germania but rarely, and were generally treated with disdain and distrust, two of Spartacus’ most trusted lieutenants, some of the main architects of what was very nearly Rome’s destruction, might reach such a high price that some might be tempted to betray them and sell them to the Romans.

            Going to market meant encountering a great number of curious people, and endeavouring to fend off their questions with vague answers, without arousing suspicion over our reticence.

            Fortunately, the children at the market preferred playing to conversing about personal histories. But there are exceptions to every rule, and one day one of the boys from the village asked me if it was true that I lived with Agron and Nasir, and there was no grown woman in the house. The usual questions followed: where is your mother? (Dead) Who makes the food? (All of us) I was wary more that he would ask about our origins than our current situation, so was taken aback when he asked:

“Is it true that they fuck each other?” 

              I had only a vague idea of what fucking was, but had heard it spoken of in hushed tones of mingled pity and shame. I had an idea that it was meant to take place only within marriage, but that this was rarely the case, that beds were usually involved, but not always, and that no one was prepared to tell me how it actually worked. I had noted how flustered adults tended to get whenever I asked about it, and the boy was annoying me – trying to fluster him, to make him blush as the adults had all blushed, so that he would stop being mean to me, I asked innocently:

               “What is fucking?”

               “Do you not know!” The boy was laughing. “You are like a baby!”

               “I am not! Tell me what it is!”

               “I shan’t, because you are too stupid.”

               Suddenly, a rush of perceptiveness came over me, as I realised that he had no idea what it was, and had been simply hoping that we would be too polite to ask (he was half-right. Frieda was certainly too polite – her eyes were like saucers. Though she was hanging on every uncouth word.)

               “I don’t think you know what it is.” I said, smiling at him triumphantly.

               “I do!”

               “Then tell me!”

               “No!” He was rapidly turning scarlet.

               “You don’t know!” I was laughing now – victory had come so easily.

               “I do!” Yet rather than tell me, the boy chose to prove his knowledge by jumping on me, tackling me to the ground. Momentarily stunned upon impact, I could not throw him off and he succeeded in pinning my wrists, kneeling on my stomach.

               “You fight like a girl!” the boy sneered, and suddenly my temper rose in me faster and hotter than it ever had before. I barely felt his fist collide with my face before I had sat up and butted him hard in the head. Stunned, he toppled sideways, and in truth, since I had succeeded, rather than breaking his nose, in butting the hard part of his forehead, I ought to have been equally dazed, yet my rage kept the dizziness at bay, and I knocked him swiftly to the ground and began pummelling every inch of him I could reach, dimly aware of Frieda shrieking in the background.

               The hands around my biceps, trying to drag me off the boy, were an annoyance – I shrugged out of the hold irritably and resumed my battery. A firmer hold came under my armpits, the hands locked behind my head, and before I knew it I was being dragged off the boy, kicking out ineffectually.

               “You fight like a boy!” I snarled as he sat in the mud, bleeding from his nose, and whimpered. The hands behind my head unlocked and I The person spoke, and I was staggered to recognise the voice of Kristof.

               “Stop hitting him.” he warned. “Or I will tell Agron and Nasir to lock your toys away again.” The prospect of having my rag doll and my rough-hewn toy sword locked up in the trunk again – as they had been after my assault on Frieda all those months ago – was enough to quiet me, and I ceased struggling. Kristof released me, gently, and steadied me as I stumbled.

               I looked upon the boy for the first time, and saw that he was struggling to sit up in the patch of mud we had been fighting in, that his face was streaked with tears and snot, that he was still heaving with angry sobs. When he spoke, his teeth were outlined red with blood – he must have split his lip.

               “I’m telling my mummy!” he spat, and my heart sank, my toys seeming to retreat before my eyes. Kristof laughed, seemingly unconcerned.               “You’re going to tell people you were knocked down by a little girl? They will laugh. And your father will hit you so you can learn to fight properly.” The boy paused. 

              “Go away.” Kristof continued helpfully, and the boy struggled to his feet, scowling at me as he made his way away. Kristof’s face lost its hard, mocking cast as he turned from the boy to me, and his usual calm curiosity replaced it.

               “What was that about?”

               “The boy said it was not right for two men to live together as a husband and wife do.” Frieda supplied. “And Elena said that it was perfectly natural.”

               “Elena is right.” he said. “It is natural.” 

              “Mama says,” Frieda began, and I thought I saw Kristof’s face twitch, as if he was resisting temptation to roll his eyes, “That you shouldn’t contradict boys, because men don’t want a wife that contradicts them.” 

              “You are too young to be thinking of husbands.” Kristof said firmly. Frieda shook her head pityingly.

               “But boys will remember, when it is time to choose a wife, which ones were nice, and which ones told them they were wrong.”

               “Mama says many things, some of them very wise.” Kristof said. “Some of them not. I do not want a wife who will tell me I am right when I am wrong, and will let me walk on her.”

               I could not help but laugh.

               “That is silly! I want a husband who will tell me that I am always right, and do everything I tell him!”

               Frieda was shaking her head pityingly, but I found myself looking out of the corner of my eye at Kristof, who was smiling at me with open admiration, thinking that my gaze was directed elsewhere. Catching my eye, he hastily cleared his throat and began ushering us towards our parents, outlining to me the plan that he would tell Nasir and Agron that I had fallen in the mud and that was why my face was bruised. I was to let him do the talking, as he was not a habitual liar, and might be believed.


	3. Forest

Ada, now that she was half-trained, proved useful. Though she was yet not trained enough to help herd the goats (Nasir, sprinting around trying to drive them while Ada chased flies, had been heard to declare that she would never be trained to herd them, that she was too stupid) she had grown already to an impressive size, and had growled impressively at Ulf when he came to visit, until Agron reassured her that he was a friend. With Ada by my side, Agron and Nasir let me wander farther from the farm than they would allow me to go alone, as much to get me out from under their feet as anything else. As long as I was back before dark – and with the days beginning to shorten again, this kept happening sooner and sooner – they were content for me to wander in the woods nearby – gathering nuts and berries, swordfighting with trees, trying and failing to catch rabbits with a pointed stick. And Ada, who was far more cowardly than her ever-impressive size would suggest, never strayed far from my side.

            One day, exhausted from running around all day, I sat against a tree to rest, and felt my eyes drooping. Ada was curled up next to me, panting from exertion, and as I leaned over to stroke her I shifted sideways, and it became easier to lean sideways on one elbow, then to lie down on my side, my head pillowed on Ada’s flank, and scratch behind her ears. I vaguely remembered Agron telling me never to lie down while alone in the wilderness, for fear that I would fall to slumber and make myself vulnerable, as my eyes grew heavy and gentle dreams claimed me.

            Jerking suddenly awake, I became aware firstly of my eyes having to adjust to the dim light and then of the bone-deep cold that must have woken me. Jumping to my feet with a start, I trod on Ada’s paw, and she yelped in pain before putting her head down and begging forgiveness for whatever slight had led me to strike her so. I stared around, my heart beating frantically as I struggled to determine where we were and how far we were from home. I breathed easier on sighting a familiar fallen tree trunk and realising that a few moments’ walk towards the treeline would bring us within sight of the house, and as my stomach growled I set off. Momentarily, familiar voices brought me up short.

            “Elena! Elena, where are you?”

            “Elena! Elena! You wretched girl!”

            “Nasir.”

            “When I catch that girl, I swear I will wring her fucking neck! Elena!”

            I paused. At seven, I had neither the wit nor the empathy to detect the cold, numbing terror underlying Nasir’s anger, nor the good sense to prefer the known, oft-encountered threat of an enraged parent to the unknown, far worse dangers of a forest full of wolves and bears. Thinking to myself that, if I was not found quickly, Nasir might be too relieved to find me alive to be angry, I did the only sensible thing (in my mind) and scrambled up a tree to wait for the balance of anger and fear to tip in my favour.

            Ada, unfortunately, gave me away, whining and barking at the bottom of the tree, distressed at my distance from her, and soon torches appeared and their bearers materialized in silhouette.

            “Ada? Ada! Komme, liebchen, wohin ist die Madchen?”

            “Away! Off! Elena!” There was an edge of panic in Nasir’s voice now, “Where is she, Agron? The dog is too craven to be parted from her, she would not leave her side unless – ELENA!”

            “Be still, Nasir, she must be close. Elena, where-“

            He broke off, as Ada bounded over to the tree I was seated in, stood with her front paws against the trunk and barked at me. Agron reached the tree first and, initially puzzled, soon looked up and saw me sitting a few feet above his head, looking down and trying to work out just how much trouble I was in.

            At first, I thought perhaps not much, for Agron, once he got over his surprise, laughed so hard he had to lean on the tree to keep himself from falling down.

            “Come down, Elena.” he said, and as I began to climb I saw, out of the corner of his eye, him shaking his head at me. “We were worried sick, you foolish girl.” Nasir, who had come to stand by Agron, was silent as he watched my descent.

            I jumped from the lowest branch into Agron’s arms, and felt him run his clumsy hands over my head and down my limbs to ensure no serious injury was palpable. Nasir stood to the side and observed, frowning slightly. Agron smiled up at him, to indicate that I was unharmed, and that we could go home, but Nasir crouched before me.

            “Why did you not come home before dark, Elena?”

            “Nasir, can this not wait?” Agron protested, but Nasir held up a hand.

            “Why, Elena.”

            I looked down at the ground and shrugged, my lower lip sticking out, knowing I was being ridiculous but unable to stop myself.

            “Do you have anything to say to us?”

            I was confused.

            “Do you want to say you are sorry, for staying out after dark, and making us worry?”

            I pulled back, and Nasir caught my wrist.

            “Are you sorry, Elena?”

            “No!”

            “That is all you have to say? No?”

            I wrenched away from him, snarling in anger – at him or myself I could not tell.

            He slapped me, hard, on the back of my leg, and I let out a howl of rage and launched myself at him. Taking him unawares, in his crouched position, I managed to topple him, and once I was half-kneeling on him, I started hitting wildly at his face and chest, with him fending me off easily, once recovered from his surprise. I was dimly aware of Agron shouting in the background.

            “Stop this! Both of you – stop!” and then his hand was around my upper arm, and he was pulling me backwards off of Nasir, and I was off-balance, but once I regained it I threw all my weight into pulling my arm out of his grasp.

            “Let go, let go!”

            “Elena, be still-“

            “Let go! Let go! Letgoletgoletgoletgolet-“

            He released me, or I slipped out of his clumsy grip, as Nasir began to climb to his feet, and I sprang away, not looking at either of them.

            “Elena.” Nasir reached for me, and I leapt away, crying: “No!”

            “Cub.” Agron said, stepping forward to reach for me in turn, and I began to run towards the edge of the wood, slowing down to a walk once I had put sufficient distance between us.

            Our progress was staggered at first – Agron and Nasir kept trying to catch up to me, and whenever they did, I sprinted until sufficient distance had been gained before slowing to a walk again. They grasped what was happening eventually, and walked a few paces behind me, as Ada walked by my side. Once we were within sight of the house, I risked breaking into a sprint, with Ada gambolling beside me, thinking we were racing.

            I gained the door of the house, and lifted the heavy latch myself (a new-acquired trick). Leaving the door ajar to allow Agron and Nasir entry (more to save myself a conversation with them than anything else) I ran straight to my mattress and burrowed under the covers, ignoring Ada’s frantic snuffling and pawing at me. After some moments she retreated to welcome Nasir and Agron as they opened the door and entered the house. I waited for them to speak to me, try to wheedle me out of my nest, but they seemed to be ignoring me, padding around and murmuring to each other.

            In time I became aware of one of them sitting on our new three-legged stool, with me on my bed between himself and the fire, while the other – Agron, probably – knelt before the fire and, by the sounds of it, was trying to restore it, since it had been left untended long enough to die down considerably. I became aware, as one does when being stared at by someone one cannot see, that Nasir was gazing at me from his seat.

            I could barely hear what he said – his voice muffled by the blankets over my head – but I managed to decipher them by straining my ears, and his anguished tone was plain even when muffled.

            “Am I too hard on her?”

            “For this? I would not say so. We were half-mad with worry, both of us. And anything could have happened to her, out in the woods in the dark like that.”

            “She was so close by. We could have found her far quicker had we taken more northern path.”

            “Fault yet lies with her. She gave word that she would return at dusk, and it was near full dark when we found her.”

            “I struck her. I struck a child – our child.”

            “Duro and I were beaten as children, when our conduct was particularly objectionable. It did us no harm.”

            “As was I.” I could not fathom how these small words in that small voice caused Agron to abandon his task and step over me to sit by Nasir.

            “It does not stand the same.”

            “How so?”

            “You were beaten for being slow, or clumsy, or hungry – for being a child, and not an impassive slave. I was beaten for being foolish, for putting myself and my brother in danger – to teach me to fear my father’s belt, if I could not be persuaded to fear the wild.”

            “I was beaten by the older slaves because they were worried that if less friendly eyes than theirs took note of my failings, the consequences would be worse. It was fear that drove them, as it was that drove your father – fear of what horror I would bring down on my own head absent their correction.” A short, bitter laugh, and then his voice changed, as if imitating someone half-remembered: “ “I beat you, Tiberius, so that he will not beat you harder.” His words would have been easier to bear had I not known them to hold truth. He was a good friend to me. He made me into a good slave.”

            Though I had always known, dimly, that I had been a slave in early childhood, that I carried the title of fugitivus as surely as Agron or Nasir, I had no memories of slavery, no understanding of what it really was to live as a slave. A horror I could barely comprehend stole up my spine at the thought of Nasir – my age, younger – working from dawn till dusk in the villa of some Roman shit, living and dying at the whim of one who looked upon him and saw not a living child, but a chattel. An object.

            “It was fear, that made him strike me, scold me for minor infractions – fear of what would happen to me if I was careless, or clumsy, when he was from my side, when he could not protect me. And now, as he feared for me, I fear for Elena.”

            “We have no dominus. No Roman shit will beat our child, or starve her, or sell her away from us.”

            “Yet this life is not absent danger! Some wild beast may set upon her as she wanders in the woods in the dark, a man may snatch her as she wanders away from us at market, she might fall from a tree, or slip on a rock, or...”

            The raggedness of his voice told me he was near-hysterical, and its sudden muffling told me that Agron had taken him in his arms and crushed him against his chest.

            “She might hate me.”

            “Never.” Agron said, utter confidence radiating from each syllable. “She loves you, she loved you first, she will never hate you.”

            “She might in time, recalling how I snapped at her, and fretted over her, how we found her alone in the woods, and instead of kissing her and comforting her I scolded her and struck her.”

            “No!” I scrambled out of my bed, and half-jumped, half-crawled into Nasir’s lap. In the year since we had arrived on the farm, my limbs had grown enough that I no longer fitted comfortably, and some limbs stuck out. But it mattered not, for Nasir fitted his arms around me and held me tightly, letting me cry his breathing evened out, his distress soothed by the need to soothe mine.


	4. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short scene of Nasir combing Elena's hair

               “Come, Elena, and let me comb your hair.” Nasir said, casually.

               “Nnnnn!” I squawked, rebelling instinctively, yet too respectful of Nasir’s fatherly authority to fully form the word “No.”

               “Perhaps, Elena, if you do not wish to have your hair combed, we had best cut it short, like mine.” Agron said, smiling. 

              “No!” 

              I knelt obediently before Nasir, as he sat on our low stool, and began to undo my braids. I was meant to undo them, comb out my hair, and re-braid them each night, yet I shirked my duty as often as I was able. I heard Nasir sigh behind me as I tugged my braids free, and winced in anticipation of how it would tug at my scalp as Nasir undid the knots. 

              In truth, I knew that Nasir was very gentle with my hair – I had seen how Annika combed Frieda’s hair, tugging determinedly through knots, deaf to the usually docile Frieda’s occasional squeaks. Nasir would always tease the knots out with infinite patience – more than I had – and really hardly tugged at all – but that did not stop me from wiggling and complaining all the time that he worked, and making the occasional break for freedom, forcing him to drop the comb as he grabbed at me to pull me back. 

              One particularly impatient tug had me snarling at him, and Agron looked up from his darning with a look of amusement.

               “You sound like a wild little dog.” he said drily, as I strained to escape and Nasir, with his hands around my upper arms, held me fast.

               “I am a wolf!” I declared proudly, and to my surprise Nasir’s grip on my arms suddenly slackened, and Agron was staring at me as if I had said something extraordinary. It took several moments of puzzlement before I realised, with a swooping sensation in my stomach, that while Agron and Nasir had been conversing in Latin, I had replied in German. 

              “A-apologies” I stuttered out – in Latin this time, but Nasir brushed them aside.  

             “None are required.” he said, a little sadly. “It is good to see you gain such facility with new-learned tongue.”

            I twisted around to face him, and saw the troubled look on his face before he gently turned my head forwards that he could complete his task. Glancing over at Agron, seated in the full-size chair, I caught a glimpse of him looking at me intently, as if studying me, before quickly looking down on feeling my eyes on him.


	5. Jug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An expensive jug is broken, and feelings run high

Hearing the crash, and seeing the shards fly all over the floor, I shrank back very slightly, waiting for the explosion, and was aware of Nasir doing the same. But instead of swearing and shouting, Agron simply stood in frozen silence and stared, at the remains of the water-jug and the spreading pool of water. None of us breathed for a moment, until Agron let out a frustrated sigh and crouched to pick up the shards. Nasir and I drew forward cautiously, wondering if Agron would be able to simply tidy up and move on with his life without raging and storming off.

            “Be careful, Elena, the shards are sharp.” Agron said, without looking up.

            “Yes, Agron.” I said, as if I did not regularly wield a sharper blade when I chopped vegetables or skinned the rabbits we trapped or shot. Nasir drew cautiously over to Agron and laid a hand on his shoulder.

            “It’s all right”

            “No it fucking isn’t!” Nasir and I both flinched, and I knew that Agron saw, because he hung his head and took a long breath.

            “I’m sorry, Nasir, I know I have no right to snap, but – just don’t tell me it’s all right.”

            “All-“ Nasir cut himself off and took a step back. I was surprised to see him going outside. Agron and I gathered the rest of the shards in silence, and together took them outside and put them on the dungheap where they would be out of the way and no one could cut themselves. I offered to sweep up inside the house, but Agron insisted on doing it himself. Sensing a desire to be alone, I elected to look around for Nasir, as much for something to do as anything else.

            I found him easily sitting on the woodpile at the back of the house, but was alarmed to find him bent over and shaking with suppressed sobs, his cheeks damp.

            “Why are you crying?” I said, and it came out as much an accusation as an enquiry – I cried occasionally and flew into rages often, Agron was entitled to his occasional outbursts, but if Nasir was crying, the world must be about to end.

            “Nothing – don’t worry, Elena, I’m just being silly.”

            “You’re not silly.”

            Nasir half-laughed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, and the knot in my stomach unclenched slightly.

            “What is it? Are you upset because Agron shouted at you? He didn’t mean it.”

            “I...” Nasir looked sideways at me, perhaps recognising that avoiding my question wasn’t worth the effort of batting away hours of plaintive “But why...?” “I just – I was upset, because I don’t know what to say to Agron to make it better when...” he trailed off, and shrugged.

            “You shouldn’t tell him it’s allright when he just dropped the water jug we saved for months to buy.”

            “Yes, Elena, I had realised.”

            “It’s too soon. Sometimes when you do something wrong or break something you need to be angry with yourself for a while first before you can listen to someone telling you it’s all right.”

            “Oh!” Nasir blinked, and wiped his eyes again. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

            “What do you know? You never do anything wrong.”

            Nasir frowned at me, and I jutted my chin out and scowled at him, daring him or anyone else to contradict me, and tell me he was capable of doing wrong.

 

When we had first set up on our own farm, Ulf and Annika had been determined to help us by stealth, mostly by tricking us into being at their homestead at mealtimes and feeding us until we felt about to burst. As our flocks and arable skills grew we were determined to repay the favour, and so Ulf, Annika, Frieda and Kristof sat around our fire having just been treated to roast rabbit, trapped by Agron, and vegetable stew cooked by Nasir and me. Frieda and I were just plotting to escape outside and play when Ulf enquired as to the whereabouts of the water jug that we had scrimped and saved to buy. There was a sudden, tense silence as Agron and Nasir looked at each other. Agron seemed about to speak when I sprang up, causing all the grown ups to halt their conversations and look at me.

            “I was carrying it, and it was heavier than I thought, and it slipped and broke.” I said, hanging my head. Ulf looked embarrassed at having brought up such a subject, which perhaps distracted him from the twin looks of astonishment on Agron and Nasir’s faces. Agron half opened his mouth before Nasir cut him off.

            “We were... frustrated to have the jug broken, but Elena is sorry, and will be more careful in future. No use in dwelling on it.”

            Agron stared at Nasir a moment, then beckoned me over. Still hanging my head, as much to avoid the others seeing the lie in my face as to continue the pantomime of shame, I made my way over to Agron and stood by his side. He put an arm around me and pulled me close, pressing his forehead to the side of my head. I thought I was the only one who could detect the raggedness of his breathing as he hid his face in my hair, and I stood stock-still, shielding him. Once his breathing had evened out, I put my hand on his and it hitched again.

            “You’re a good girl really, Elena.” Agron said, his voice rough as he straightened up. This was a lie.

            “I try.” I replied. This was a worse lie, and Frieda was looking at me with an expression of the deepest scepticism, but Ulf and Annika had their heads tipped to the side (the same side) and seemed to have swallowed it. Kristof looked amused, and turned to Nasir to ask him some minor question about the farm.

 

As soon as the door closed on our guests I ran to my bed and hid under the covers, feigning sleep, not wishing to discuss my lie with either Agron or Nasir. It did not work.

            Nasir was outside, waving off our guests, which left Agron and I alone. I felt Agron cross the room and stand over me.

            “Elena.” he said, and I pretended to snore. Agron laughed and crouched next to me. He regarded me in silence for a moment, then poked me hard on the tip of my nose, causing me to open my eyes with a yelp.

            “Elena, you need not have”

            “I’m not sorry, I won’t say I am.” I closed my eyes again. Agron sighed.

            “I do not mean to extract an apology. I only... you need not shield me from what I cannot do. My hands have improved from what they were, but they will never be as strong as they were before... before, and we must accept it.”

            “So accept it.”

            Agron started, and stared down at me.

            “What?”

            I could not put into words how it felt to watch Agron turn his rage inward, punish himself for what he couldn’t do, how his efforts to stop shouting and taking his frustration out on us had merely led to a different kind of pain for us, so I settled for feigning sleep again. I could feel Agron’s gaze still on me until the door opened and he must have looked up to see Nasir.

            “Is she asleep?”

            “If not, she soon will be.”

            “She has the right idea. Go to bed, I will say goodnight to her and join you.”

            I heard Agron straighten up and some murmuring as he and Nasir crossed paths, then footsteps going across to the bedroom door, and another set coming from the main door to my bed.

            Nasir stroked the hair from my face, and when I opened my eyes he smiled down at me. He crouched over me, half lying on me and half pulling me into his embrace. His loose hair fell over my face and tickled my nose, and I wrinkled it, grinning.

            “My good, clever girl.” Nasir whispered in my ear. “My precious child.” He kissed my cheek. “What would we do without you?”

            I thought of all the times Nasir had declared that I was a savage, that I was putting grey in his hair and taking years off his life, that the next time I ran off to Frieda's to play without telling him he would cut me up and put me in the stew, but all of those proclamations had a note of irony, even amusement, even as Nasir used them to express genuine frustration. This proclamation – that I was not merely tolerable, not merely loved, but essential – had an intensity and an earnestness to it that I could scarcely comprehend. I could not put what I felt into words, so instead I rolled slightly, took Nasir’s face in my hands and roughly kissed his cheek. He scooped me up and sat up, pulling me out from under my covers and cradling me to him.

            “Goodnight, my darling.”

            “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I hate the trope of children saying really profound stuff, but they genuinely don't process things the same way as adults, and they have different (and fewer) filters, so they can often come out with things that wouldn't occur to adults. At least that's what I'm telling myself :)


	6. Romans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While at the market, Agron, Nasir and Elena hear a terrifying rumour

As time wore on, our old life – the one we had lived in the rebellion – seemed to fade into the distance. My nightmares about the Roman who had killed Lupa – once a nightly occurrence – grew less and less frequent, replaced but rarely with new bad dreams about monsters in the wood, goblins in the well, and the old man in the next farm over who shook his fist at me and shouted when I wandered onto his land. We spoke Latin increasingly rarely – there were times when I tried to think of the Latin word for something and could not recall it. Fortunately, after years of dwelling in Germany, Nasir’s command of the tongue increased greatly after his initial struggle. Having once hung back, reluctant to contribute when Agron negotiated at market, he now pushed himself forward and bartered confidently, sure that he could get a better bargain than Agron. For his part Agron, whose more surly temperament made him dislike bartering, was happy to retreat and let Nasir speak for him.

            Often the best bargains were to be had at the end of the day, when stallholders were desperate to rid themselves of their stock, and so it came to pass that, one marketday as the stalls were beginning to be dismantled, Nasir stood and argued with the candlemaker as Agron and I stood a little apart, waiting patiently for him to finish so we could go home. I leaned heavily against Agron’s lower ribs for support, more tired than I cared to admit, and he idly carded his hands through my hair, as much to keep me awake as anything else. Suddenly, a sound – a word – from a nearby conversation made me prick up my ears, though my attention had wandered too far for me to register its meaning. I registered, with some alarm, that Agron, at the sound of the same word, had straightened up, stiffened, and Nasir had halted in his bargaining to turn towards the conversants. Blinking myself awake, I began eavesdropping in earnest and picked up a few phrases as the volume of the conversation rose and fell: Slaving party... from the north... passing through... Rome.

            Cold dread slid into my stomach, and I looked wildly up at Agron to see how he had reacted. His mouth set in a grim line, he did not look down at me, instead turning his gaze to Nasir, who was glancing between him and the two men whose conversation we were overhearing. Not for the first time, I felt as if they had forgotten my presence altogether, as they communicated absent words.

            Seeming to reach some wordless agreement with Agron, Nasir turned from the stall to go, which was the final inducement needed for the stallholder to lower his price to what Nasir was prepared to pay. Heeding Agron’s gesture, Nasir turned to accept the offer, watching out of the corner of his eye as Agron casually approached the men who had been speaking and engaged them in conversation. Having been firmly left in place by Agron, I instead sidled over to Nasir, who looked at me as if he had forgotten all about me, and shot me a reassuring smile in the midst of his banter with the stallholder. I opened my mouth to speak, and for the first time in years was forced to use the Latin word, as I did not know the German.

            “Romanes?” I whispered, as if the name itself was a curse. Nasir looked conflicted for a moment, then glanced from Agron to myself and nodded curtly. I was so stunned I could do nothing but blink, standing in the middle of the market square and swaying in silence until Agron concluded his conversation and came over to us.

            “What shall we do?” I whispered, as Agron laid a hand on the back of my head to guide me forward, away from the stall and towards the road.

            “Get home.” Nasir said. “Before dark.”

            I usually dragged my feet and lagged behind at the end of a long day at market, but today I hurried ahead so often that Agron and Nasir had to call me back.

            “Numquid et hic?”

            “No.” Nasir said, and somehow the fact that he was speaking German soothed me almost as much as the meaning of his words. “They will not find us here. They have travelled far, and have further to go before reaching home. They will not seek out trouble where it can be skirted.”

            I sat on my bed, feeling my heartbeat begin to slow, and Ada padded over to me and licked my face. Stroking her, I felt suddenly far more tired, and yawned widely. Nasir smiled softly and stepped across the room to stroke my head.

            “Sleep, little one. You have nothing to fear.”

That night, I was woken, as I slept on the hearth, by the sound of the door being opened.

               “Agron?” I said sleepily, sitting up. “Nasir?”

               “Shh, Elena, go back to sleep.”

               “Where are you going!” I was fully awake now. “Are you going to leave me here alone?”

               “Yes, but we shall return soon.”

               “I want to come with you.” 

              “You can’t, it is not allowed.” 

              “Why not!” 

              “It is too dangerous.” 

              “No! Don’t go!” I ought, by this stage, to have been used to my parents and guardians throwing themselves in harm’s way, but had grown used, over the preceding few years, to having reasonable confidence that Agron and Nasir, if they left me for a few hours, would return unscathed. This felt both new and familiar.

               “We must.” Nasir knelt before me. “And we will return. You need to bar the door while we are out, and keep Ada with you. Do not open the door to anyone but us.”

               “And if you do not return?” 

              “We _will._ ”

               “My mother said that she would return to me, but she died! If you die, I will be left alone!”

               “We do not intend to die this night. Yet if, _if_ we have not returned by first light, go to Frieda’s house. Her family will look after you.” 

              “No! NO!”

              But they left, Nasir pushing me to the floor and hastening to the door, closing it behind him and Agron before I could get up and stop him. I pulled on the door, but he had jammed it shut from the outside. I could not force the window shutters open, or I would have climbed out and followed them. But, trapped in the house, I barred the door as Nasir had instructed, and retreated into his and Agron’s room, calling the dog to follow me. Having barred their door as well, I pulled the blankets off the bed and curled up on the floor under them, with the dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh... Sorry?


	7. Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron and Nasir return from their mysterious night time mission

I did not sleep, but at length I grew too tired to listen intently for sounds. When someone, after hours, or days, or possibly only minutes had passed, banged on the front door, I almost jumped out of my skin. The dog started barking.

               “Elena!” A muffled voice cried. “Elena!” I thought it sounded like Nasir, or Agron, but I knew that their voices were distinct, and could not be mistaken for one another. I knew also, that it would be difficult to identify a voice through two heavy doors, and opened the bedroom door cautiously, letting Ada out that she could bark at the noise from closer quarters. I approached the front door cautiously. I tried to bid her hush, but she would not listen to me. I pressed my ear to the door, so that I could hear properly. 

              “Who is there?” I asked.  

             “Nasir! Open the door!”

               “Qui erat lator imbrem?” I demanded. In Latin, who was the bringer of Rain?

               “Spartacus!” Two loud, male voices chorused, and I unbarred the door, letting Nasir and Agron in. Agron shoved the door open with his shoulder, and held it open so that Nasir could enter. He held something in his arms, wrapped up in his cloak.

               “We need your bed.” he said shortly, and dropped the bundle on my pallet before the fire before I could either give or withold permission. 

              “Is that a person!” I exclaimed. It was not truly a question, for I could see plainly that it was a child, of indeterminate sex, whom Nasir had laid on my bed. The child had almost no hair, its eyes were huge in its bony face, its limbs were thin – so thin that I knew it must be at the edge of starvation. Its ribs protruded, yet its belly stuck out. I knew that something was wrong. At first I thought it was speaking in some foreign language, but I soon learned that it was whimpering the word “Please” over and over again.

               “Please!” it cried out, as Nasir began to unwrap his cloak from around it. “Please, please, please.” After being repeated so many times, it sounded like nonsense.

               “I do not wish to hurt you.” Nasir entreated, his voice seeming to crack. “I wish only to bind your wounds. I beg of you, let me help you.”

               The child responded only by crying, softly, as if it lacked the energy to sob with true intent. 

              “Can I help?” I asked, kneeling by the child’s side. Nasir looked up at me, and blinked, as if he took a moment to place my face. 

              “Find your old dress, the one you are too big for. And bring me a knife, I would tear it up for bandages. Agron, build up the fire.”

               I obeyed, rooting around in the wooden chest in the corner, while Agron wordlessly moved to build up the fire. This was unusual – ours was not a family in which orders were wordlessly obeyed, by anyone. 

              “H-hush, little one.” Nasir whispered, his voice shaking. “What is your name?” 

              The child only whimpered. 

              I brought the dress over to Nasir, and he pulled at it, tearing it a little. 

              “And the knife?” he enquired.  

             “At your belt.” Agron replied. Nasir looked down, and saw his knife tucked into his belt, as Agron had said. He took it out, and even in the dim light from the moon shining in through the open door, I saw that it was coated in something dark, which he hastily wiped off on his cloak. 

              “What is that?” 

              “Nothing.”

               “It is something, it is-” it was difficult to distinguish in the dim light, but I could make an educated guess. “It is blood, is it not?” 

              “Shhhhh!” Nasir said urgently, as he bid me hold up the cloth so he could cut it.

               “It is! What did you do – it was not you who injured this child?”

               “How fucking dare you!” Agron snarled, and I snarled back at him, before I realised what had happened. 

              “The Slavers! The Roman caravan, you attacked it!” 

              “Keep your fucking voice down!” 

              “Who will tell? Ada? This…” I paused. “Is it a boy or a girl?” 

              “A boy.” Nasir said grimly, pulling the cloak away from the boy’s feet. 

              “What happened to him?” I asked, kneeling by his feet to inspect them. He had deep wounds on the soles of his feet, but they did not look like the ones I got from stepping on thorns in the woods.  

             “He made attempt to escape his Roman masters, and so had the skin flayed off his feet.” Nasir said. His voice was steadier now, and I could hear anger more than fear.

               “But!” I could not believe what I was hearing. “He is so small! He must be younger than I am!”

               “He may well be. Or he may be of an age with you, or older, and only appear young because he has been starved his whole life, and not been able to grow.”

               I looked down at the boy, whose eyes were closed now, and who frowned in pain as Nasir inspected and touched his feet. 

              “Fetch the water jug.” Nasir said.

               I did so, but found it empty. 

              “Go and fill it, then.” Nasir said absently. I looked up, pleadingly, at Agron, who was almost finished laying the fire.

               “I will come with you.” he said, with a gentle half smile. 

              We made our way out to the well without Nasir noticing our absence.

               “Who is he?” I asked. “Where is his mother?”

               “Dead, we think. We could not be sure. But when the rest of them scattered, no one stopped to take care of him and he was left in the cart. And so we took him, and soon realised that he had more injuries, graver ones. And he was too weak and listless to walk, so we had to carry him.” 

              I took hold of the rope for the bucket, and Agron picked it up and dropped it in. I began to pull on the rope to drag it up, and would not have Agron’s help, though my arms ached with the effort. He lifted the bucket out of the well once I had pulled it up far enough, and filled up the water jug, giving it to me to hold. I carried it into the house and found Nasir looking round distractedly for us. 

              “There you are.” he said. “Bring it.”  

              Obediently, I trotted over, bearing the jug. He dipped one of the rags in it, and began to wash the boy’s wounds. He whimpered in pain, and I knelt by his side.               “What is your name?” I asked. 

              “Please.” he whispered. “Please.”  

             “That’s a funny name.” I said, even as dread slid into my stomach. 

              “What would you have me do?” Agron asked, standing uneasily behind Nasir. 

              “Have we any willow bark, or roots for pain?” Nasir asked. 

              “Nothing. A little wine.”  

             “Fetch it, I will see if I can make him drink.”  

             “What can I do?” I asked.  

             “Go to sleep, cub, you can take our bed.”  

             “I want to help!”

              “There is not enough work for three of us, you should sleep, and wake us at first light, that we might go and seek the healer.”  

             Suddenly feeling tired, I obeyed, and went to bed. I woke, briefly, when Agron joined me, and stroked my hair before falling to sleep himself.

               I woke again, at first light, to find Agron slumbering next to me. I found Nasir when I padded through to the main room and found him lying on the hard floor next to the boy, dozing. Ada lay at the threshold, as usual, and thumped her tail on the floor when she saw me. I bent and shook Nasir’s shoulder, and he jumped and grabbed my arm, hard, before waking up fully and realising who I was.  

             “Are you going to ride over and get the healer?” I asked.  

             “I do not wish to leave him.” Nasir said, rising and looking at the boy. “I am the only one of us trained by a medicus, I should stay with him.”

               “Agron cannot go.” I pointed out. “The horse hates him, and will throw him.” 

              “Then I must ask him to go on foot.” Nasir said, frowning.  

             “I could go.” I offered. “I know the way.”   

            Nasir studied me for a long moment.

            “If you are sure.” he said. 

              “I am hungry.” I said. Normally he would have fetched some bread for me himself, but he only gestured vaguely at the place where we stored it, inviting me to help myself. I tore part of the loaf off, and made my way outside, followed by Ada. 

              “Stay here, girl.” I said, and bridled the horse with difficulty – normally Nasir helped me, since I was so short that the horse could simply put her head up and I could not reach to put it on. After some considerable time, and nearly falling off the trough where I was precariously balancing, the horse was successfully bridled, and I led her outside and mounted. It was not until I was halfway to the healer’s house that it occurred to me that I was not allowed to go riding by myself, in case I fell and there was no one to help me, but fortunately I made it to the healer’s house without incident. He was gathering herbs in his garden, and stood up on seeing me, frowning at my dishevelled appearance and the foam at the horse’s mouth. I told him that Agron and Nasir had found a boy, gravely injured and in need of the attention of a healer, and of herbs. Nodding, and not asking any further questions, he hastily saddled his horse and followed me back to our farm. 

              Agron was outside, looking out for us when we arrived, and took the man’s horse as he dismounted. 

              “You have a sick child, do you not?” he said.  

             “Inside.” Agron replied, leading the horse away. It threw its head up and skittered its feet. Horses never liked Agron.  

             I followed the healer inside, and found Nasir still bent over the child, trying to persuade it – him – to take a sip of water. He turned his head away and cried out, and Nasir set the cup upon the floor, his face drawn, and looked up at us. 

              “You returned quickly.” he said. 

              “We hurried.” I replied. Nasir nodded absently, and turned to the healer, who had set his bag down, and was kneeling at the child’s other side, tutting.

               “What is your name, little man?” he asked, but the boy only groaned. 

              “Where did you find him?” the healer asked  

             “In our field, the one near to the main road.” The healer doubtless saw Nasir’s brief glance in my direction, but I doubted he could read it. _Do not fucking tell him otherwise._   

             “Where did he come from?”

               “We do not know. He has not given voice this morning.” 

              He did last night, I thought. But we were pretending he was not here last night.  

             “What has happened to his feet?” 

              “The skin on the soles has been flayed off.”  

             The healer’s face twisted with disgust.

               “The things people will do to helpless children.” he said. He glanced up at me, perhaps some movement I had made caught his eye, and smiled. Perhaps he was worried he would frighten me. Grown ups always thought I was more easily frightened than I was. 

              “You should go outside.” he said. “And help your daddy.” 

              Nasir looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. 

              “Is Agron out there with a horse?” 

              “Two.” 

              “Go and help him before they kick his head in.”

               I left, not too reluctantly. I found the atmosphere of a sickroom oppressive.  

             Agron had got on better than I thought – the horses were untacked, and in the stable, yet he was shiny with sweat and grim faced. I took the bridle from him to hang up, and reminded him that the chickens still needed fed. Chickens and dog fed, we made our way back inside, and heard Nasir asking the healer about the boy’s arm. I had not looked at it the previous night, but saw now that it was twisted at an unnatural angle.  

             “It has been broken some days or weeks ago, and begun to heal at an angle. To set it straight would require me to break the bone again, and I would not cause him unnecessary pain.” 

              “But if you do not, his arm will always grow crooked.” 

              The healer looked at Nasir, his lips slightly pursed, and then up at myself and Agron. He gestured to us to sit down at Nasir’s side, and once we were settled – me in Agron’s lap, the way I used to sit when I was small – he spoke, slowly.

               “His arm shall not grow crooked… because it will not grow. He will not survive.” 

              “No.” Nasir said, matter of factly. 

              “If I could make it different by saying so, I would, but my words have no such power. The boy is fading rapidly, he will not return to consciousness, and will not live long past nightfall.”  

             “How can you be so certain?” 

              “I have seen stronger children – and grown men – die of lesser injuries. If he was well fed and robust, he might heal from the injuries, if he was uninjured, he might be built up from the starvation. But both…” he shook his head. “The starvation will stop him healing from his injuries. The injuries will hasten his death by starvation. Nothing I can do will work quickly enough to allow him recovery.”  

             “You are wrong.” Nasir said, his jaw set. “He will live.”

               “I hope I will be proved so.” The healer straightened up. “Yet I will not straighten his arm, since doing so – the shock of the pain – might kill him in this weakened state. All I would do is offer herbs and counsel to ease his suffering.” He brought a bundle of herbs, and another of roots, out of his satchel, and paused as he gave them to Nasir. “If you were to give him them all, you could end his suffering.” 

              “I will do no such thing.” Nasir said sternly. “Agron and I have both been injured before, and told that we would die. Yet here we both stand.” 

              The healer glanced from one of them to the other, one eyebrow raised.

               “A story for another time.” He picked up his satchel, preparing to leave. “Keep him warm, but not too warm. Give him some of the root to chew, if you can get him to chew it. Wet his lips, make him drink if you can, but not if he cannot swallow and will only choke. No solid food, only thin gruel if he can take it.” He looked down at me. “You should have fetched the midwife wife, little one. She is the one who eases passage from one world to the next.”

               “He is not going to die!” Nasir snarled, from his position on the floor, and fell suddenly silent when the boy beside him cried out. 

The boy died early that afternoon, while Agron and I were finding tasks to occupy us outside that we might avoid the sickroom. We do not know, still, how long Nasir sat silently with the dead boy before we ventured inside. I crept in behind Agron, and saw him kneel by his side and place an arm over his shoulder. Nasir did not move, did not even lean into Agron. As I walked in, I saw that Nasir was staring, almost unblinking, at the boy, as if by sheer force of will he could make him breathe again. If any force in nature could restore the dead to life, I thought, it would be the will of Nasir. I was proud of my poetic turn of thought, even as I was sad for Nasir and, in a more abstract way, for the boy. I crouched next to him, and peered at him. It had been many years since I had seen a dead body, and I had never had leisure to examine one closely. They were meant to look like they were sleeping, but he did not. The complete stillness of his chest jarred. His face was wrong too – the muscles were all slack, and his mouth had been pulled a little open. His eyes were closed, at least. I wondered if Nasir had closed them.  

             “He did not even have a name.” Nasir whispered. “Nothing to put on a gravestone.”

               “He told me his name was “Please”” I said. I have never, before or since, been chilled to the bone by anything so much as the look Nasir gave me when I said that.

               “Elena.” Agron said. “Now is not the time for jokes.”

               I pouted, and was tempted to talk back, to argue, but resisted. I looked at the straw pallet he lay on, the blankets piled on him – more were at his feet, evidently he had been too hot and had some removed. His hurts were bandaged, his face and arms had been cleaned of the filth that had coated him when Nasir first carried him in the door. I sat at Nasir’s other side, and put my hand on his arm. His eyes flicked momentarily away from the boy to rest on me, before returning to him.

               “Before he died.” I began, with only a vague idea of how I would finish. “He slept on a soft bed, under a blanket. He was clean, and warm, and safe. He knew what it was to be cared for.” 

              Agron squeezed Nasir’s shoulders and looked past him at me. He looked approving.

               “He should not have died.”  

             “You heard what the healer said.” Agron replied. “You could not have saved him. You did all you could, more than most would do.”  

             Nasir stared at the child some more. He spoke again, his voice hard.   

            “I should have died. Died, rather than let Rome stand while I yet drew breath.”  

             I wound my arms around his middle. 

             “I am glad you did not die.” 

              “As am I.” replied Agron. 

              Nasir closed his eyes at last, and bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Agron and I held him, and I buried my head in Nasir’s shoulder, feeling my face go damp.


	8. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with Ulf and his family prompts the resurfacing of memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated - please check them out if there's anything you need to be warned about!

            The following day, Ulf showed himself unexpectedly. Usually it would be Nasir whom I called to greet guests, but today it was Agron who came forward to greet our visitor.

            “Greetings, Ulf. I had not expected-“

            “A party of Romans travelling not far from here were set upon last night and butchered. Their bodies and their empty cart were found this morning. At first we suspected bandits, but all their supplies had been untouched. Only their prisoners had been liberated.”

            “How curious.” Agron said, in an attempt at nonchalance, but everything, from the tone of his voice to the look in his eye to his very posture told that it was he who had set upon them and liberated their slaves.

            “A boy...” I interrupted, trying to distract from Agron’s obvious guilt. “We found a boy on the edge of our fields yesterday, gravely ill, who had been badly beaten. Could he have been one of the liberated slaves?”

            Ulf frowned in concern. “Perhaps. Has he recovered?”

            “Dead from his injuries.” Agron told him. “Buried by our herb garden.”

            Ulf stared up at Agron, clearly shaken by the news.

            “How terrible.”

            Agron nodded, not saying anything, and I was silent, wondering if Ulf could be distracted from the attack on the Romans by the news of the boy’s death. Ulf, however, continued, casually.

            “There are those in the village who are displeased by the Romans’ fate, who fear the wrath of Rome coming down upon us. I myself do not find myself alarmed. The men who died were slave traders, not army scouts. It is doubtful they will be missed soon, even more doubtful that when they are, the place and nature of their demise will be discovered. And I have always been... discomfited by our truce with Rome, by our willingness to let them go unmolested through our land even when they carry with them men and women captured into slavery. I would not fault an escaped slave for wishing to free others from bondage, or for taking Roman life to do it.”

            Agron and I blinked at him, barely able to comprehend what he implied. Ulf, for his part, looked amused.

            “Come now.” he said. “You did not think us so slow, did you? You, claiming to come from the Alps, as if we did not know what lies just beyond; Nasir and Elena, whispering in Latin when they thought none could hear; The mark on your forearm – I saw it the first night you slept beneath my roof, and knew it for a Roman symbol. I know not how many others guessed the truth of your origins, but I know that none have spoken of them, and none would betray you. Not when you were strangers, and certainly not now that you have made a home here.”

            Nasir showed himself at the far side of the yard, and Ulf excused us to go and greet him. Agron and I stood side by side and did not speak.

 

            Ulf had come over to ask us to join his family that night – they were going to slaughter a goat, and would have food enough for all of us. Annika and Ulf were pointedly not speaking of the Roman party who had fallen the night before, and

            “Is it true that you were slaves of Rome?”

            Agron and Nasir started, staring at Kristof, and there was a ringing silence as Agron and Nasir stared at Kristof, and Kristof blinked and looked down.

            “Yes.”

            The silence was loud. It was Agron who spoke, and Agron to whom Kristof directed his next question.

            “How... how did you come to be a slave of Rome? Were your lands in the south where the Romans invaded?”

            Agron nodded, not looking at Kristof but seeming to look through him. All of us waited, with bated breath, for him to speak of that which even I had never heard him speak before. Nasir laid a hand on his arm, and just when it seemed he would hold his peace forever more, he gave voice.

 

      Agron spoke in a dull, expressionless voice, his face blank. Nasir sat quietly by his side, his eyes on the floor, as Agron spoke of a village burnt, the surrounding fields burned and salted so that nothing would grow there, of villagers murdered. And he said “murdered” not “killed” so I thought that some of the deaths had taken place off the field of battle. He was of an age with Kristof when it happened. He had two sisters and two brothers. The older sister, a pretty girl of about sixteen, was dragged away, screaming, by the soldiers. 

           “Did they kill her?” Kristof asked. 

           “I hope so.” Agron replied, and it would be many years before I understood how he could say such an awful thing. 

              He knew that his parents, and his youngest sister and brother, were dead, because he saw them die at the hands of the Roman soldiers, his father killed for attempting to prevent his oldest daughter being carried off. Only one brother remained to him, Duro, a year younger than him. They remained together for many years, until they attempted to make escape from the ludus – Agron had to explain to us what a ludus was – where they had been imprisoned, and Duro died in the attempt.

            “What happened then?” Kristof prompted, skittering sideways to dodge his mother’s hand. 

           “War.” Agron replied. “We fought against the might of Rome – at first there were only three score of us. At our largest, our army numbered in the thousands.” 

           “What happened? Did you win?” 

           Ulf rolled his eyes, but Agron only shook his head, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to smile but could not. 

           “Pity.” Kristof said. He looked disappointed. Agron shrugged. 

           “There is no greater victory than to fall from this world a free man. As I intend to.”  

          “And you?” It was Frieda who asked, for once, not Kristof. She spoke to Nasir. “Do you hold memory of where you came from? Of your family?” 

           “I…” Nasir looked like he was thinking. “I hold no memory of Syria. My family… I recall a brother. A little. I must have had a mother and father, but…” he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. His voice, unlike Agron’s, was warm and alive and filled with regret. What he said seemed all the more terrible for it, and I found myself throwing my arms around his neck and climbing into his lap, which I was too big for now – my long legs stuck out awkwardly. He laughed, and patted my head, and I felt Agron smiling at me.Days later I was aiding Nasir as he prepared our midday meal. 

           “I hold little memory of my mother.” I said abruptly. 

           He glanced at me, but said nothing. I elaborated.  

          “I think she looked like me, but when I try to see her in my mind, it is as if I look upon her from a great distance. She appears… faded.”

          “Unsurprising, after so many years.” he said gently. I knew he spoke from the heart, yet I did not want his comfort. I sought condemnation.  

          “Even-” I hesitated. “Even the Wolf grows dimmer in my recollection.” 

           “Her death is almost as distant. She fell a little less than a year after your mother did.” 

           “Really?” I frowned. “So short a time?”

            “It must have seemed longer to you. You were so small, a year was next to an eternity.”  

          “So…” I counted the harvests we had seen. “We have lived here longer, then, by far, than we did in the rebellion?” 

           “We have.” 

           “It does not seem so to me.”  

          “Nor to me.”  

          I sliced in silence awhile, as Nasir kindled the fire. I knew that he needed to concentrate to start the fire, and let him work in silence. Once the fire was going, when he sat back on his heels, I spoke again. 

           “I try to remember the sound of her voice, to recall what she said to me at important times, but...” I trailed off, staring into the flickering flames, sure that Nasir would not understand. He crouched before me. 

           “When my... when my brother and I were parted, he said to me “I will find you, Nasir.” There was a time when I could remember the words, the sound of his voice as he spoke them to me – in Aramaic. When I grew a little older I forgot my Aramaic, and so I remembered it as if he had spoken in Latin, though I knew we had never spoken the language to each other. Now, when I recall” He paused, and swallowed thickly “He seems to speak in German.” He looked up at me. “I may have forgotten the shape of my brother’s face, and the sound of his words, but I have never forgotten their meaning. If you cannot recall someone clearly after many years, it does not mean that you did not love them, that you do not love them still.” 

           I felt tears pricking at my eyelids and nodded hard, looking down at the floor. Nasir shifted to kneeling in a more comfortable position. I could not recall him speaking at such length of his brother before.

            “Do you think he’s dead?” I asked, and Nasir glanced up, and spread his hands in a noncommital gesture. 

           “Do you hope he’s dead?” I asked, recalling what Agron had said the night before. Nasir was silent a long while, his gaze directed past me, to the table at the back of the room. Perhaps, in the shadows under the table, he saw the shadow of a little Syrian boy, reaching for his brother and promising to find him.

            “Almost.” he said at length. I put a hand on his head, trying to comfort him, and he leaned on my hip for a moment, as if gathering his strength, before he straightened up. 

           “Come. Our food won’t cut itself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when you think there can't possibly be any more angst...


	9. Archery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agron's skill with the bow increases

When we first lived on the farm we lived mostly on game hunted in the forest and roots and berries gathered from nearby, as we had while travelling north from the Alps. Soon, however, the goats and cows started producing milk, and we obtained chickens for eggs. Our first harvest was meagre, but the wheat we reaped allowed us to make our own bread for the first time. Over time, as we learned and slowly built up the farm around us, our harvests grew, as did our stock of animals. Each year we gave Ulf a portion of our harvest, and a kid or two, as payment for leasing the farm to us, but in truth the help he offered by far outweighed the payment he received – it was he who had taught Nasir how to fish in the river with a spear, had taught Agron how to set snares in the forest to catch rabbits, his wife who had taught Nasir how to make bread with our first harvest of grain and Agron the finer points of sewing. Initially they had handed down Frieda’s old dresses to me, but their attempt at charity had been foiled when I grew over a few months to be a head taller than Frieda, and stayed taller than her.

            On hearing about the bow we had found in the barn, Ulf was pleased and offered to teach Nasir how to use it. He tried not to show it, but he was clearly dismayed on hearing that we intended for Agron to wield it, and doubted that he could successfully use his ruined hands to operate it. Agron proved uncharacteristically resilient to being doubted, and patiently picked it up every day and sent arrows halfway across the yard, the distance increasing over months and years as he learned to adapt his method, rewrapped the grip to shape it to his hand. His progress was hampered by the fact that his hands were being forced to work in a way they were never meant to, the parts left functioning working overhard to compensate for the parts that would never move again, and they grew tired more quickly than my hands or Nasir’s. Sometimes in the evening he would set aside his darning and Nasir and I would see his hands tremble and shake in his lap. We never picked up his sewing to do it for him, but Nasir would take his hands in his and rub them until they were still.

            Nasir and I had almost given up hope that he would ever succeed when we turned the corner into the yard and found an arrow embedded firmly in the round log we had propped up on a barrel years earlier to serve as a target. We stopped and stared at it – another would-be archer would be able to falsify his progress by picking up the arrow in his fist and driving it into the wood, but Agron could not grip an arrow with sufficient force to drive it into wood. The only way it could have got there was if he put it there with the bow.

            He was in the field with the goats when we found him, obviously aware of our presence before he turned and smiled, as if just seeing us.

            “You shot an arrow into the target.” I said, matter of factly. Agron shrugged and looked down, and I almost missed how wide his smile got. Nasir pushed past me and flung himself into Agron’s arms, pressing his face into his chest. I hung back a moment, as Agron kissed the crown of Nasir’s head and rested his cheek there. Then he caught my eye and beckoned me forward, and Nasir and Agron stepped apart a little so I could fit into the hug.

            A moving target proved more challenging, and Agron lost half a dozen arrows in the woods before he came back from the woods holding a rabbit, not with a snare-mark around its leg, but an arrow-wound in its eye. Nasir smiled so wide I thought his face would split, and the two of them kissed for so long I was forced – forced – to throw the rabbit at them to split them up. Agron maintained that shooting deer, once they returned from their summer grazing, would be easier as they were bigger targets, but I was sceptical. Finally, one illustrious day, Agron walked out of the woods with a deer slung across his shoulders, and Nasir ran to him and kissed him all over his face, murmuring unintelligible praises against his skin. I resisted the urge to throw something at them, partially because I could not have lifted the deer to throw it, and partially because I was rather hoping they would let me keep the antlers.

 

Agron had always said that he would teach me the bow when I grew strong enough to bend it, and finally I took hold of the bow, nocked an arrow to it and drew the string back to my face. I let the bowstring slip from my fingers, breathing out gently, as I had heard Agron advised to do, and the arrow fell at my feet. I burned with humiliation, looking down at the ground and trembling with rage. I recalled how Agron’s first attempt with the bow had gone similarly, but had naively thought that I would not suffer similarly – after all, my hands were whole and functioning, surely I would succeed easily where Agron had spent so long failing? I looked at Agron, looking down and smothering his smile in the same spot where, years before I had laughed hysterically at his similar failure. Consumed as much with shame at the memory of my behaviour as I was with embarrassment at my current failure, I threw the bow down at my feet and snarled. Agron’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

            “I cannot do it!” I exclaimed.

            “After begging for so long to be taught the bow, you would abandon effort after single attempt?”

            I snarled and made to push past him, unable to have him watch me fail over and over again before I succeeded, as I had watched him, unable to face the mean, arrogant part of me that had supposed myself to be inherently better than the man who had raised me, had gone hungry so that I could eat, had been cold so that I could be warm. Agron put out an arm and stopped me, and rather than simply ducking or walking around his arm I halted.

            “You will never succeed if you do not try.” he said, and I could not think where I had heard those words before.

            “I have fucking tried!”

            Agron picked up the bow from where I had dropped it and held it out to me.

            “Try again.”

            I took the bow.


	10. Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass, and the signs of age begin to appear on Agron and Nasir

It happened so slowly that I barely noticed it, but other people saw the signs of age on Agron and Nasir – to make Nasir laugh, I would stare intently at Agron’s face and, when he irritably asked me what I was looking at, I would prod him hard in the lines at the corners of his eyes. Nasir’s face remained comparatively smooth, since he was some years younger than Agron (or so he told me, as far as I was concerned they were both simply old) but while the greying of Agron’s hair came in very gradually, making his hair slowly paler, the few white strands in Nasir’s dark hair stood out more, giving a more... stripey effect. One day I caught him pulling a white hair out of the crown of his head and teased him until he threw the comb at me in a pet. Agron looked up from his darning in confusion, having missed most of our exchange as he concentrated on what he was doing. Realising what we had quarreled about, he rolled his eyes, setting aside the breeches he was mending and crossing the room to press his lips to Nasir’s forehead and stroke his hands over his mostly-black hair.

            “Ignore her. She only teases you to get a reaction, she doesn’t mean it.”

            “You speak of me as if I do not remain within room.” I objected, and was ignored. Nasir sighed and laid his head on Agron’s chest.

            “It has been many years since I believed – truly – that my youth and beauty were all I had. Yet to see it begin to slip away...”

            Agron snorted with laughter and held Nasir at arms’ length.

            “You are far from old, Nasir, and still beautiful.”

            I edged toward the door, sensing my presence unwanted, but saw Nasir look down and blush. Agron put a hand under his chin and tipped his face up.      

            “When first we met we cheated death each day. It never occurred to me to even hope that we would be allowed to grow old together.”

            Nasir looked up at Agron with shining eyes, and slid a hand under Agron’s vest, over his belly. Agron’s eyes went half-lidded, and mine widened with alarm.

            “Elena, see yourself out.” Agron said, as Nasir wound his arms around Agron’s waist.

            “But-“ I began to protest. Dinner was already late, delayed by my quarrel with Nasir, and I was hungry.

            “Go, girl.” Nasir said, and giggled as Agron stroked his hair off his neck. Obediently, I fled, taking the dog with me.

 

One of the older boys at market had gleefully explained to me how it worked with two men, which meant that I now had to devote considerable energy to not thinking of my parents fucking. Usually they made it easy for me to remain ignorant, but sometimes I would see a hand on a leg, a meaningful glance, and they would retire to bed earlier than usual, and I would sleep with my head under my pillow, just in case I heard anything. I distracted myself from the thought by imagining all the things I would have done to the older boy who mockingly hypothesised how Nasir and Agron fucked, had Kristof not pulled me off him when I had barely landed half a dozen punches. I landed at the top of the hill separating our property from Ulf’s, able to look down on one side and see our house, and on the other side see Ulf’s house in the distance. I did not see the figure approaching from Ulf’s side of the hill, and jumped when he finally caught my eye, but relaxed on seeing that it was Kristof. He was nearly man-grown now, with a shadow of stubble over his jaw, and was starting to grow into his limbs, becoming less gangly. It had occurred to me once, as I watched him talking to his father, that he was growing handsome, and I had been alarmed by the notion. He smiled and hailed me as he approached.

            “How do you fare?” he asked politely. He had grown less disdainful in the last year or so, less intent on reminding me of my inferior status as his little sister’s friend, inclined to treat me almost respectfully.

            “I am well. And yourself?” I had been initially confused by Kristof’s new cordiality, but was now able to return it after a fashion.

            “Well. I saw you on the hill as I was nearing home, and wished to ensure nothing was amiss. It will be dark soon.”

            I looked up. There must be two hours of daylight left, at a conservative estimate. But Kristof had always been cautious in nature.

            “No, nothing amiss. My – Nasir and Agron wished me out from under their feet.”

            Kristof frowned.

            “They made me leave so they could fuck.” I said bluntly, hoping he would blush, and he did – his pale face going pink as he laughed.

            “That was nice of them.” he remarked.

            “How?”

            “Well, my parents don’t tell me to go away, they just... I walk into the house to find something, and I hear them behind the curtain. Or I wake up in the middle of the night and I can hear them in the bed in the main room. He looked at me ruefully. “At least you have a door between you and them.”

            I tried not to laugh, pressing my lips together as hard as I could, but a snort of laughter burst from me, and I laughed so hard I toppled over and fetched up lying on the grass. When I had sobered sufficiently to open my eyes, I saw that Kristof, though amused, had managed to stay sitting upright, and was looking down at me with amusement. Feeling suddenly hot, I sat up hastily and began brushing the grass seeds off of my braids.

            “It’s a good thing, I suppose.” Kristof said, and it was my turn to blush, as I stared at him. His face had just returned to its usual colour, but flushed again as I stared at him.

            “Well...” he said, defensive. “It means they still love each other.”

            “Is that what it is?” I asked, incredulous. The way such things were talked about in the village it seemed shameful, sordid.

            “Well, yes.” Kristof was looking down now, unable to meet my gaze. His yellow hair flopped into his eyes. “It’s... well, it’s like a hug, or a kiss, but more – much more. It’s special. So special you would only do it with the person you want to spend your life with. And it’s private, because it’s meant to be just... just the two of you.” He was dark red now, and looked more embarrassed than I had ever seen him. I looked down at my feet, and thought about what he had said as I waited for his embarrassment to cease. The boy at the market – and that other boy, all those years ago – had made it seem so sordid and dirty, but I had never gone to village boys for sage advice – why should I pay them heed now? The way that Kristof explained it made much more sense – if it was so shameful, why would it be a part of marriage, which was meant to be a union founded on love and respect? Understanding the mechanics of it, I still didn’t quite understand how it could possibly be pleasant, but I had been told that I was too young to understand. Much as I hated being told that, perhaps it was true. There were certainly things I understood now that I could not have understood when I was younger.

            I looked up, and caught Kristof’s eye, and something jolted in my chest, making my breath catch. We both stumbled to our feet, blinking rapidly, and Ada jumped up at me, excited by the sudden activity.

            “Shall I escort you home?” Kristof asked. “It isn’t safe for a little girl to be wandering around alone.”

            I laughed and snapped my fingers for Ada to heel.

            “But I am not a little girl any more.”


	11. Adolescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Elena reaches her teenage years, new challenges emerge in her relationship with her parents

As the years wore on and I grew taller, my body started to change in other ways – my dresses grew tighter around my hips and chest, and I gained a modesty I had never had before – insisting on Agron and Nasir leaving the room when I bathed or changed clothes, where before I would give no shit if they were in the room or not. On one occasion Agron – who had not realised I was changing – unexpectedly came in the room while I was half-naked, and hastily retreated as I screamed at him, barely understanding myself why I was so enraged. Even after I was dressed, even though Agron was blameless, and could not have reasonably been expected to know that I was changing clothes in the middle of the day, I remained angry with him for the rest of the day, right up until bedtime, snarling at him and turning away whenever he tried to talk to me. Hurt, he grew curt and angry as well, and Nasir spent the day keeping us separate and doing his best to placate both of us into bare civility. The following day he built a screen so that I could change in privacy with him or Agron on the other side of the room.

            Some strange tension had crept into my relationship with Agron, that neither of us could understand. Whereas before Agron and I had, more often than not, banded together as fellow savages against the civilising influence of Nasir, and teased him about his fastidiousness, now Agron and I sniped at each other and Nasir and I got along comparatively well. Where before my temper had burned hot and flamed out quickly, now a minor disagreement could put me in a dark mood for hours. Nasir was far from immune from my sharp tongue or dark moods, but where Agron would snap back at me and appear genuinely hurt by my behaviour Nasir, in a complete reversal of his previous stance on rudeness and loss of temper, would accept my harshness philosophically and only rarely rebuke me with a frown or a hurt glance. When Agron snapped back at me, I would get more angry and shout back, and we would end up shouting at each other, but when Nasir frowned at my behaviour I would immediately apologise and go to great lengths to make amends. It must have been near-impossible for Agron to bear.

            I know that Agron could not understand the sudden tension between us, I could not understand it myself, though my behaviour was the cause of it. I overheard Agron and Nasir discussing it once

            “Why is she like this – what reason does she have for such dark moods?”

            “She is thirteen, Agron – thirteen year olds are meant to rage and stamp their feet and argue with their fathers.”

            “I did not behave as such at thirteen.”

            “Grown men and women never recall their adolescent selves as they truly were – if your parents yet lived, I wager they would tell a different tale.”

            “I cannot imagine you behaving as she does at thirteen.”

            “I was a slave at thirteen. I bless the gods that Elena is free to rage and stamp as I was never able to.”

            Agron had no answer to that, and I decided to cease hiding and announce my presence, never mind that it would likely cause another argument.

            I knew that I was growing from a girl into a woman, not least because every adult of my acquaintance would not cease in telling me. Perhaps, though I would not admit it even to myself, I saw how Agron’s lip curled whenever anyone said so, and put it together with Agron’s lack of friendships with women, and apparent disdain for them, and concluded that once I reached womanhood he would cease to love me. Perhaps I sought to push him away before he turned from me, to wound rather than being wounded. For whatever reason, our fights were always far worse than my fights with Nasir, and when we made amends there remained a strange uneasiness between us that neither of us could quite bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some writers split long chapters in two so they can be a reasonable length. I split a reasonable length chapter into two tiny chapters for extremely vague thematic reasons which may be nonsense. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Next one will be longer.
> 
> I would like to thank all the commenters who inspired me to pick up a story I had given up on and helped me keep my momentum. You guys are the best! I say this with absolute sincerity - I could not and would not be doing this without you. 
> 
> Those of you who just read and don't comment - I understand, honestly, even though I know how much I love comments I very rarely leave them for other people, and I appreciate your taking the time to read anyway! Let's take a moment to thank the people who leave comments and keep writers going. Even if it's just in our heads because of who we are as people. 
> 
> Feel the love, Waldfee, PoetsReach, VivaRockSteady and ymmy12!!


	12. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena grows up in unexpected ways
> 
> See end notes for details about tags

I continued growing, much to Nasir’s dismay, and the day eventually came when we were of equal height. Agron crowed with laughter, certain that I would never attain his height, and Nasir smiled sweetly at me and suggested that we cut off my feet to restore the natural order of things – with me smaller and weaker than him. I laughed and flung my arms around him, and he made some token effort of resistance before submitting, with a sigh, and even returning my embrace.

           “Well.” he said. “Now that you are as tall as I am, you can walk farther, and take the goats to graze by yourself.

           “By myself!” I groaned. It was boring going out with the goats alone – it was usually Agron’s job, and he hated it. Sometimes, when Nasir did not need my help, I would accompany him, and we frequently managed to be companionable for a few hours. But as the day wore on we would grow tired of each other’s company, and bored, and irritable. It would probably be worse on your own, with only Ada for company. She was an affectionate beast, but no conversationalist.

           “You won’t have to do it every day.” Agron said comfortingly. “Only some days.”

           I groaned, and rolled my eyes.

They were true to their word, and I didn’t have to take the goats out by myself every day. On the days that I did, Agron and Nasir would wave me off in the morning, with my food, and I would wander the hillsides, looking for promising grass, until dusk. The days were long, and boring, and strangely melancholy. Out in the hills, it was easy to forget that the farm was only an hour or two’s walk away, and imagine yourself utterly isolated from civilisation.

           One day, as I led the goats, and Ada, up the hillside to where I knew more grass grew, I was already in a bad mood, though the day had barely started, and I had no quarrel with Agron and Nasir to blame it on. Agron had wrapped up a bundle of bread and cheese for me, and kissed me roughly on the top of my head when I took it, and the simple tenderness of the action – which he undertook almost every day – moved me almost to tears. I had bolted from the house with only a hasty farewell, attempting to hide my strange emotion, and had overheard a puzzled sound from Nasir at my rapid departure.

           Having found the spot I sought, I leaned my back against a tree and tipped my head back to rest upon the trunk, wondering why my heart ached and the lower part my abdomen seemed to cramp for no reason.

           As was my habit, I got up and walked around from time to time, and played with Ada a little (always keeping one eye on the goats) to keep from sleeping. As the morning wore on, the cramping in my lower abdomen grew from an annoyance to a real pain, and as a wave of it came on, I leaned against a tree trunk, panting and wondering if I could justify returning home with the goats on the grounds of an upset stomach. I sat down to eat my lunch, tossing Ada a couple of lumps of cheese as a reward for sitting at a distance and drooling, rather than trying to steal my food. As I sat and ate, I became aware of a strange, soggy, squashy sensation between my legs, and shifted uncomfortably. Wondering if I had inadvertently sat on something wet (which seemed unlikely – I had inspected the ground before sitting) I turned and looked at the ground, and saw a faint red stain, like blood. I blinked in confusion, wondering if I had sat on something sharp and cut myself, but I had felt nothing. Unless the blood was coming from between my legs... I reached up my skirt to feel for what it was, and my fingers, when I withdrew them, were red and sticky with blood.

           I stared them at them in utter disbelief, slowly overtaken by a creeping horror. How long had I been bleeding? How heavily? How long would it take me to bleed to death? If I started back for the farm now, could I make it back before I inevitably collapsed from loss of blood? What would happen to the goats? How long would it take Agron and Nasir to grow sufficiently worried to come and seek me out? Would I be dead by then? And why, in the name of all the gods, had I, a healthy young girl, suddenly started to bleed from no cause that I could see?

           Ada came over, and sniffed interestedly at my bloody hand, and I pushed her away. Abruptly, her ears pricked up, and she ran over to the other side of the herd and stood to attention, pointing with her nose, her tail wagging. I frowned at her. It couldn’t be a wolf – she would have been snarling and barking. But what else could it be? A strange traveller? But she was suspicious of strangers.

           I heard a familiar whistle, which made Ada abandon her post and run towards the whistler, as I allowed my mouth to drop open in disbelief. Offering up a silent prayer to the gods, thanking them for sending Agron to me at this most opportune time, I wiped my bloody hand on the grass and straightened up, walking slightly awkwardly around the grazing goats to where Ada had been.

           Agron soon appeared over the rise, Ada at his heels, and waved cheerfully to me. I tried to return it, but it seemed to wobble. When Agron came upon me he was grinning.

           “Nasir and I were worried that you were upset this morning, and there was little to do around the farm, so I-” He broke off, seeing my face. “Is something wrong?”

           “It’s… I’m… There’s blood.” I managed to force out.

           “Where? Are you hurt?” Agron asked, concerned. He looked me up and down, and actually turned my shoulder so he could see my side as well.

           “It’s- I’m not hurt. That is – It’s coming from…” I gestured feebly between my legs.

           Looking horrified, Agron looked down at the ground between my feet. A single drop of blood marked the ground.

           “Is it – are you sure?”

           “I am.” I said. I raised my hand – a couple of smears of blood remained on my hand, that I had not managed to wipe off. Agron stared at my fingers, apparently struck dumb.

           “I – perhaps it’s nothing, there’s not that much –“ I paused a moment as a wave of pain hit me, and I breathed through my nose a couple of times as it eased itself to a dull ache.

           Agron put a hesitant hand on my shoulder.

           “Elena? Elena, what is it? What’s the matter?”

           “It hurts.” I said simply, laying my hand on my lower stomach, where the pain was.

           I could see Agron’s face set as he made up his mind.

           “Come with me.” he said, taking hold of my arm. “Let us return to the farm.”

I allowed myself to be led by him and, after a short while, jerked my elbow impatiently out of his hand.

           “I can fucking walk!” I snapped, and strode on ahead. Our progress was more rapid than it usually was, in part because Agron appeared to be supremely unconcerned with the goats, and did not stop as often as he usually did to ensure that none of them had wandered. Indeed, I wondered if he would have bothered with them at all, had I not stopped to insist on it. He seemed to be far more troubled by my blood loss than I was; my initial panic having faded to an eerie calm. I wondered idly to myself, as I imperiously ordered Agron to stop chivvying me and help me count the goats again, whether my composure was due to a belief that I was going to be fine, or because I was convinced I was going to die, and did not want Agron and Nasir to suffer the loss of their entire herd of goats on the same day that they lost their daughter.

           On our return to the farm, Agron would have set off to fetch the healer before we even put the goats away, but I insisted that, before any other action was taken, we should see what Nasir thought. Perhaps, even before breaking words with him, I knew that he would have something important to contribute. For whatever reason, I proposed that I seek him out while Agron put the goats away. I found him in the house.

           “What brings you home so soon?” he exclaimed, rising from his seat to walk over to the doorway where I stood and cup my face in his hands. “Are you unwell? You look pale.”

           “I…”

           At this point, Agron appeared.

           “Nasir! We must fetch the healer, Elena has suffered from an issue of blood.”

           “Blood?” To my surprise, Nasir looked only mildly concerned. “From… from between your legs? From the entrance to your womb?”

           “I… Yes, I believe so.” I had a dim idea of where the entrance to my womb was, having conducted a brief exploration after being told that this was where babies were born from. “You… you know what it is?”

“I believe so. Are you suffering from pain, just here?” Nasir patted the lower part of his abdomen. “Pain that comes and goes in waves?”

           “Yes! You know what…” I trailed off. Nasir looked as if he was in grave danger of bursting out laughing.

           “Why are you fucking smiling?” I asked, calmly. Almost calmly.

           “A-apologies, it is just that-“ Nasir snorted with laughter, apparently unconcerned by my murderous countenance. “I thought – Annika said to me that she had spoken to you of the Curse?”

           “I have been cursed!” I shouted, and heard Agron swear loudly behind me. Neither of us usually believed in curses, yet it seemed that both of us had found belief in them suddenly.

           “No, no – Well… No! You have not been cursed. Or if you have, then it is a curse shared by all women since the dawn of creation. Some women call it that, some women call it a blessing – though I would struggle to see it as such-”

           “Find your fucking purpose! I snapped. What is happening to me?”

           “Do not raise fucking hackle!” Nasir returned, and I blinked. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that for all his gentleness, Nasir was more than capable of ferocity. To my surprise and faint outrage, I felt tears welling in my eyes.

           “Please.” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “Tell me.”

           Agron sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulders, which only pushed me over the edge into full sobbing. As I cried into his shoulder I felt the movement of his head as he shook his head reproachfully at Nasir who, to give him his due, looked stricken. As I recovered myself, Agron gave me a clean(ish) rag with which to dry my eyes, and I managed to regain some composure. Nasir sat before me, and reached out timidly to touch my hand. Sniffing, I looked up at him, and tried to signal him with my eyes that he should continue, feeling unequal to forming the words. Nasir, fortunately, seemed to read my purpose in my eyes.

           “When a girl grows to a certain age… when she reaches womanhood, the change from girl to woman is signalled by bleeding from the womb.” I gazed at him in disbelief. I could not think of myself as a grown woman – my old doll still sat in her seat by the fire, I had not managed to quite give her away. I still loved, sometimes, to run and shout and turn cartwheels. I had even climbed a tree less than a month ago – not for any purpose, I was playing hide and seek with Frieda. And whenever I sickened, or hurt myself, or needed any kind of help, my first instinct was to shout for Nasir or Agron. Though perhaps not quite a helpless child any more, I could not think of myself as a woman grown. Nasir continued:

           “The blood shows that she is old enough to bear children, and to marry.”  

           “I don’t want to bear children!” I shouted, indignant.

           “And you won’t! You don’t have to. You will not fall pregnant until after you have lain with your husband on your wedding night.”

           I heard Agron cough beside me, and looked up to see him roll his eyes.

“And if you were foolish enough to lie with a man before your marriage, you could fall pregnant then. But I know you would never do such a thing, and risk bearing a bastard child and bringing the acrimony of the whole town on your head.”

           “I –“ I was confused, and annoyed that we had strayed so far from the topic at hand. “I have no intention of lying with any man, husband or otherwise. Now tell me – when will this bleeding stop?”

           “A few days time.” Nasir said. “And I am told that the pain is often at its worst on the first and second days, and grows less fierce thereafter.”

           “Well thank the Gods for that.” I grumbled.

           “However.” Nasir continued. “The blood will return, whenever the moon returns to the stage it was at when the blood came for the first time.”

           I stared at him, trying to detect whether or not he was in earnest, and hoping dearly that he wasn’t, as Agron cried out:

           “Take pause! I am sure that I have heard conversation between women about “moon’s blood” or “monthly blood” I never troubled myself to discover what they meant – is this what they spoke of?”

           “I believe it must have been.” Nasir replied.

           Agron nodded sagely, seeming satisfied that he understood. I, however, was far less contented.

           “Are you in fucking jest?” I snarled. “I must endure this fucking torture each fucking month?”

           Nasir and Agron both laughed: relieved, probably, that I really was not ill or dying, and that the uncomfortable conversation about wombs and womanhood was over and done with. But I was already furiously angry, and their mirth raised me to a murderous rage, and I stood up so suddenly that my stool tipped over.

           “You grinning fucking cunts!” I snarled, and swept out of the house, dimly aware of Agron standing up and Nasir calling him back. Knowing that I would be in trouble for my outburst, and that I could not face a telling off in my current state, I took off running for the high fields, even as my lower abdomen contracted agonisingly again.

           I stopped when I felt too tired to move further, fetching up at the bank of the stream. Realising, as soon as I stopped running, how exhausted I was, I sank first onto my knees, then lay down on my side and watched, unseeing, as a beetle climbed a blade of grass.

           I was dimly aware of the passage of time as the beetle made his way up the blade before flying off, for a succession of other insects to take his place. I noted the sun sinking slowly in the sky, and clouds gathering, obscuring the sunlight. It must have been late afternoon, and cold from the ground seeped into me, but still I did not move, merely pulling my knees up towards my chest and curling around them, moaning whenever the pain struck me particularly badly.

           For the second time that day, I heard Agron calling me, though this time there was worry in his voice as he shouted. I tried to gather the energy to sit up, or call out, or just raise my arm so he could see me, but it seemed beyond me, and I wondered glumly if he would walk right past me.

           Fortunately Agron’s powers of observation were greater than I gave him credit for, and I heard his footsteps drawing near. I heard his knees click as he crouched behind my back.

           “Elena.” he said, simply, and I grunted in response.

           “Come along, you little fool, you must be freezing.” he said, tugging on my arm, and I allowed him to help me to my feet. Once I began to move, I realised just how cold I was, and shuddered involuntarily. Agron made a long-suffering noise and wrapped his own coat around my shoulders.

           “It almost fits you!” he exclaimed, and then he smiled sadly at me as he looked me up and down. “Truly, you are not a little girl any more.”

           The thought gave me pause. I was really a woman now, in body at least if not quite in mind. Agron knew this, had been faced with definitive proof, yet here he stood - seeking me out to calm me after a tantrum, offering me his coat. He had not turned from me, had not withdrawn in disgust as he was wont to do from women. Perhaps there was hope. I wrapped my arms around him, my forehead resting at the base of his neck.

           “I will always be your little girl.” I mumbled into his chest, half hoping he would not hear me.

           He laughed, and began to lead us back towards the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussion of a teenage girl getting her period for the first time and being totally unprepared for it, and at one point thinking she's dying. Tell your kids about puberty!


	13. Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the swimming pond interrupts the making of Elena's new dress

“Ow!” I exclaimed, and scowled at Agron. He glared at me, and resumed pinning the material for my new dress into place. After years of my wearing hand-me-downs bought from older girls in the village, and when I grew too tall, adding length by stitching material around the hem, Agron and I were being forced to make me a new dress from scratch. My old dress had grown so tight around the chest that I had taken to wearing it with the back unlaced, disguising the open back by wearing a shawl. Agron had, on finding this out, determined to make me a new dress, an undertaking that terrified us both. But the cloth was bought now, at the cost of two goats, and the skirt had been cut out and sewn together. I stood on a stool in the yard as Agron draped cloth over me and endeavoured to pin the remaining cloth into the shape of a bodice. He blamed his hands for how often he stabbed pins into me, but I knew how dexterous he could be when he put his mind to it, and suspected he was pinning me on purpose because I would not stop complaining.

            Satisfied, Agron began to unpin me from the bodice, leaving pins in to mark where the material should be cut. Just then, Frieda and Kristof appeared in the corner of the yard, and I shouted and hailed them, jumping off the stool, deaf to Agron’s protests. He sighed, and watched me sprint across the yard in my too-short, too-tight dress, with the bodice of my new dress pinned over it.

            Frieda embraced me, and sprang backwards with a yelp when one of the pins at my back stung her, leaving blood running down her hand. She looked down in puzzlement, and I looked over my shoulder at Agron, who looked like he was laughing but stopped when he saw me looking. He had never liked Frieda.

            Agron beckoned me back over, and I obediently turned my back on him, allowing me to unpin me and take the bodice off. I was grateful that my bizarre modesty had compelled me to try my new dress on over my old dress, so I was still clothed when the bodice was removed. Kristof had turned his back anyway, in a bizarre display of respectability.

            “We came to see... if you are not too busy, if you would be able to come swimming with us?” Frieda asked. “It is such a hot day, Kristof and I were going to go up to the pool for a swim.”

            My heart sank. I knew that Agron would insist that I stay and help sew my dress together, that seeing me decently clothed was more important than playing about in the stream like a child. Dreading the reply, I turned to Agron.

            “May I...”

            “Go.” Agron shook his hand irritably. “I will put the bodice together, and you can help me with the sleeves tomorrow.”

            I was momentarily stunned, then rushed over and hugged Agron as tight as I could before he could change his mind.

            “I’ll be back by sunset!” I shouted, as I danced across the yard, closely followed by an uncharacteristically exuberant Frieda, as Kristof followed at a more sedate pace.

 

It was a short hike to the bathing-pool – hidden in the woods halfway up a hillside, it was shoulder-deep, dappled by sunlight. It was formed by a widening of the fast-flowing stream at the base of a short waterfall. The first time I had been taken here to swim, I had been barely able to touch the top of the waterfall with my hand when I stood on the rocks at the foot of it. Only Kristof was able to climb to the top and jump off, into the pool, splashing us all. Annika, Kristof and Frieda had taught me to swim there. Back then we had bathed naked, with Annika watching from the shore, but now I felt that we would not be permitted to take all of our clothes off. I hesitated, unsure. To my surprise it was Frieda who was the first into the pool. Leading the way for us, she pulled off her shoes, stockings and outer dress, leaving only her slip, and raced into the water. Kristof and I followed suit, me in my slip and Kristof in his coarse white linen breeches, which I assumed were the male equivalent of the slip. The water was shoulder deep to me now, but only came halfway up Kristof’s chest – he was taller even than me. His form had filled out from labouring on the farm, and I caught myself staring a couple of times as he stretched and flexed, enjoying his own lithe young body. I thought my peering unobserved, but kept catching him making sidelong glances at me that made me wonder if he had seen me staring. Kristof mentioned how he used to dive off the top of the waterfall, and I declared that, though he might be too old and dignified to do so, I was not. I scrambled out of the water and up the rocks, Frieda squawking, Kristof alternately shushing her and laughing at me. I reached the top of the waterfall with ease, reflecting how much taller it had seemed so few years ago. The jump into the water seemed barely a hop now, where before it had been like jumping off a precipice. As I stood and contemplated this, I observed Frieda giggling, and Kristof flushing scarlet and looking down at the water. Frowning, I looked down at myself and saw that my modest slip, which had billowed under the water, now that it was sopping wet and I stood on dry land... clung, in ways most immodest. Hoping to hide my own blushes, I dove headfirst into the water, nearly colliding with Frieda in my haste. When I surfaced, Frieda splashed me for nearly hitting her, and the two of us hurled water at each other. I looked around for Kristof, who usually would have forgotten all pretense of being the responsible older brother by now, and caught him gazing at me openly, his expression... I could not form a thought of what it was, but it made my heart quicken in my chest. When at length we dragged ourselves out of the water and laid on the grass to let the sun dry us, I hoped Kristof would stay and talk to us, but instead he muttered something indistinct and marched purposefully up the hill – still half-dressed – to find some better spot to dry himself. I wondered if it was my fault, if my manner had offended him, if he disapproved of my wanton display of myself in my wet slip, if he had caught me staring at him, if he only wanted to avoid seeing the way his sister’s slip clung similarly to her body... When we were dry, and pulling on our outer clothes again, I resolved to be polite and formal, and less familiar with Kristof, as we made our way home.

 

Unbeknownst to me, Agron and Nasir had between them sewn the skirt of my new dress together while we were swimming, and on hearing this Frieda proposed that I try on the dress for them, and show them how it looked. Agron rolled his eyes heavenward, but Nasir, who had always approved of Frieda, smiled and told her it was an excellent idea.

            Laced into the skirt, pinned into the bodice, I started to get a feeling for how the dress felt. It was comfortable – much more comfortable than my old dress. I could breathe in properly, and the skirt fell to my ankles, instead of flapping around my calves. To complete the effect, Frieda undid my loose braid and braided and pinned my head up around my head, in the style of a woman, rather than a child. Agron and Nasir had retreated outside by this point, to continue with the day’s work, and Kristof had followed them, bored.

            At length, Frieda stood back and pronounced me finished, and I stood, and tipped my head experimentally to the side to see if the pins would hold. But Frieda knew her business, and my hair stayed where it had been put. I took a couple of steps, experimentally, enjoying how the skirt swung and turned as I walked. I turned on the spot, back to Frieda, and my smile faltered at the sight of her face, frozen in some strange consternation. But then she looked up at me and smiled, and was lit from within by genuine pleasure.

            “You look so nice, Elena. A dress that fits can do wonders.”

            “Thank you.” I said, uncertain that I could really look all that different. A few steps outside the door proved me wrong, as Nasir turned from his task and blinked in astonishment on seeing me.

            “Why Elena, it... it fits you so well! You look...” he bent his head and looked down at my feet, which confused me until “You look taller, somehow – I thought perhaps you stood on your toes. And your hair...” he trailed off, reaching out as if to touch my hair and suddenly freezing, apparently thinking better of it. “You look quite grown up.”

            There was some sadness in his voice, though he smiled as he said it, and I felt a rush of panic.

            “I am the same age as I was in my old dress.”

            “Well...” Nasir shook his head. “Stay, I will fetch Agron to see his handiwork.”

            He took off quickly around the barn, and Frieda and I looked at each other and shrugged.

            Agron’s mouth dropped open on seeing me for the first time, and I was suddenly so acutely embarrassed that I longed to tear the dress off and put on my uncomfortable old dress again. But then Agron smiled, and crossed the yard, and took my hand and made me spin around. The skirt flapped gratifyingly as I spun, and Agron laughed, and all of a sudden it was allright that I had apparently grown several inches and several years in the time it took me to change my clothes, and everyone was looking at me funny, because despite everything, Agron had not changed. Agron still loved me. Movement caught my eye, and behind Agron I saw Kristof standing against the barn, looking down at the ground and tracing in the dirt with his foot. I could not understand or even name the strange, sinking feeling that came over me at the sight of him unable even to look at me, and I found myself looking down at my own feet, my smile fading. I felt, more than saw, Agron frowning from Kristof to myself.


	14. Jan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to make sense of her feelings for Kristof, or his for her, Elena turns her attention to another boy
> 
>  
> 
> Tags and archive warnings come into play in this chapter - if you need more details about any of them, skip to the authors' notes at the end of the chapter

            Jan, the innkeeper’s oldest son, was rolling barrels of wine, his forehead shiny and his hair damp with sweat. My toes tapped inside the boots I had been forced to wear, despite the heat, and I shifted uncomfortably, my dress suddenly feeling cruelly constrictive. His eyes fell upon me and I looked down, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of a flush coming over my cheeks. I was dimly aware that he had stopped rolling the barrels, and risked glancing up, just in time to glimpse the stretch and pull of his torso as he pulled off his shirt. Tossing it to one side, and pushing his sweaty hair off his face, he grinned at me, and I realised abruptly that my lips were parted, and my breathing had quickened to a pace he would find flattering, given opportunity to notice. Hastily, I straightened and strode off, feeling my knees weaken at the sound of Jan’s laugh behind me.

            Coming across a barrell of rainwater, I hastily splashed some on my face. Frieda, as always, sensed that I was comporting myself in an unladylike manner, and appeared magically by my side.

            “Flustered, Elena?” she enquired, looking over my shoulder. Knowing that Jan would be throwing barrels around, and that I ought not to look, I twisted at the waist to follow her gaze. He was stretching. I tightened my grip on the edge of the rain-barrel.

            Kristof suddenly entered my field of vision, and all of a sudden I felt absurdly guilty. I shook off the feeling, and affected a casual air, but could not meet his eye.

            “Jan?” he said, and sounded as if he were making effort to keep disappointment from his voice.

            “He is of a form, is he not?” Frieda asked, teasing.

            Kristof only grunted, and Frieda tossed her head, laughing, and linked her arm with mine, forcing me to walk past Jan again. He paused in his work for a moment to raise his hand in greeting at us, though it seemed to me that his eyes sought mine over the others. I raised my own hand barely to shoulder height, wishing that I could look on him without cringing.

            That night, after Agron and Nasir had retreated to their room, I lay on my too-small mattress and thought of Jan’s muscular chest and arms, the trail of hair that led downwards from his navel. As my hand on my belly slid lower, I let my chest heave as it would.

 

Agron and Nasir, unprompted, proposed that we stop at the inn after market, and drink an ale to fortify us for the journey home. Ulf joined them momentarily, and Frieda begged me to walk with her, since she had sat too long already. We sat in the courtyard at the back of the inn, as we had many times before, but this time there was a strange sense of anticipation hanging over us, as we sat on barrels, swinging our legs and waiting, though neither of us would admit it, for Jan to appear.

            Soon enough, he emerged from the back door of the inn, and leaned on the wall, arms folded, and spoke to both of us of the events of the market, of who had passed out drunk at the bar before noon, who had fought with which stallholder. After not too long, Frieda sprang down from her barrel, and said she must return to the taproom. I jumped down as well, and began to say I would accompany her, but was interrupted by both of them at the same time: Frieda saying “I can go alone,” as Jan exclaimed: “No, stay!”

            I froze, and Frieda brushed my arm with her hand as she slid back in through the door, and Jan and I were left standing, half a stride apart, blinking stupidly, hands twitching at our sides.

            “I...” Jan began, and I strode forward, closed the distance between us and kissed him, winding one arm around his waist and cupping the back of his neck with the other hand. After making one small, surprised noise, he returned the kiss with equal ardour, equal clumsiness. Warmth spread outwards from my core, and I broke from him reluctantly, when forced to by lack of air.

            He clasped me to him, my face over his shoulder, and panted in unison with me.

            “Come.” he said, and led me by the hand into the inn and upstairs. I knew that I ought to tug my hand free, that Frieda and Kristof and Nasir and all that I held dear would have me plant my feet and refuse to go, but I went. We crept along the upstairs hallway, and he cautiously tested one of the doors. Finding the room empty, he propelled me inside in front of him, and slid in behind me, closing and barring the door.

            For a moment, we stood and stared at each other, before all of a sudden we were overtaken with our ardour, and in a moment were tearing at each other’s lacings and tugging on our clothing. He took me by the shoulders and turned me roughly around, that he might unlace my dress at the back, and though I was taken aback by how much stronger he was than me, my overwhelming feeling was lust.

            Such was our hurry, that we were both yet half-dressed when we fell upon the bed. Jan’s shirt had come off, and the bodice of my dress was hanging about my waist, but rather than take my dress off completely, Jan simply shoved my skirts up and settled between my legs, shuffling to expose himself.

            On seeing the size of his cock, I felt a sudden thrill of fear. I could barely admit my own index finger, how could he possibly fit into so small a space? I tried to speak, to say: “No, wait...” but before I knew what was happening, he had planted one hand by my head and was steadying himself with the other as he pushed, first gently, and then with sufficient force to make me cry out.

            “Jan, wait!” I begged, and pushed against his chest as he began to move, but he brushed my hands away as if my strength was nothing.

            “Aaa-aah!” I cried, tears springing to my eyes, but Jan only shushed me, and continued, faster and harder than before. I had been told that it hurt, but not this much – I was certain he would tear me in two.

            “No, Jan, get off, it hurts too much, stop!” I exclaimed, and tried to sit up, propping myself on my elbows, but he pinned me down as easily as he would a kitten, and would not stop.

            I began to lash out at him, hitting wildly at his chest and shoulders and face, and he stopped for a moment to grab hold of my wrists and pin them on either side of my head. I began to sob in earnest then, cursing myself for allowing myself to be alone with him, as if I had not been told often enough of the danger that strange boys posed to me.

            “Hush, someone will hear,” he said irritably, and released one hand so that he could put a hand over my mouth.

            My left hand freed, I began scrabbling frantically in my skirt for my dagger, which was normally tucked into my belt, but had been dislodged. Finding it among the folds, I took hold of it so hastily I dropped it, and picked it up again, bringing it up to Jan’s throat. The fucking imbecile barely noticed, tossing his head back irritably, and I slashed wildly, missing his throat and cutting his cheek instead.

            More out of surprise than pain, he stopped suddenly and cried out, and I took advantage of his confusion to shove him off me. He slid off the bed, and I rolled off the other side, holding the knife up and snarling as I tried to tug my dress back on one handed. He staggered back to his feet, looking affronted.

            “What the fuck was that?” he demanded, as I hastily pulled my dress back on and picked up my shawl off the floor.

            “You hurt me!” I hissed, and it sounded pathetic, like the whining of a child, not the woman that I realised, with a sinking feeling, I now was.

            “You cut me, you fucking bitch!” he said, and made a move towards me, but stepped back when I slashed at him again.

            “And will again, if you come within armlength of me!” I threatened, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. A flicker of fear crossed his face, and I hastily crossed the room to the door, keeping my dagger between me and Jan at all times, and unbarred and opened the door one handed.

            Fear and exhilaration drove me quickly down the stairs again, but in the tiny passage downstairs I paused before the door to the taproom. Tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, and a sob threatened to escape my chest, but then there were footfalls from upstairs, and I burst through the door into the crowded room, hoping that the presence of a score or so of other people would be enough to stop Jan from exacting revenge.

            Frieda appeared at my elbow out of nowhere, her eyes large and concerned.

            “Elena? Lena, what is it? Are you hurt? Did he...?” she trailed off, taking in my disarranged clothing, the wild look in my eye, and most of all my unsheathed dagger, and her eyes widened still further.

            “Fried...Frieda,” I forced out, but I could say no more, had to trust in the agony in my voice to say what I could not. She threw her arms around me in a close embrace, and whispered urgently:

            “Agron and Nasir must never know.”

            “What?” I drew back, staring at her.

            “Have you no sense?” she demanded. “They will kill him. They will kill him for this, Elena, and then they will be put to death, and you will be all alone.”

            A just world would have given me a moment to take in what Frieda said before Kristof strode over, purpose in his stride and concern in his gaze.

            “Elena!” he said “Has something happened? Are you alright?”

            Frieda spoke cautiously.

            “Elena had… a dispute with Jan.”

            “An argument?” Kristof glanced over my clothing, my disordered hair, and for longer at my dagger, which I just realised had blood upon the blade. “How bad was this dispute? Was blood drawn?”

            “Ah…” I hastily wiped my knife on my dress. “Less than could have been. The man still had his cock when I was finished with him.”

            Kristof exchanged a look with Frieda, just as Jan entered the tavern from the door in the back – the one which led upstairs. He had a cut on his cheek, which was still bleeding, and he glared, tight-lipped, in our direction before stalking away.

            “What happened?” Kristof whispered, lowly, urgently.

            “He was – it-” I could not make myself say the words, not to Kristof. I started again. “He… we…” You owe him this, I told myself, not knowing where the thought came from. Look him in the eye and tell him the truth. All of it.

            “I wanted to lie with him. We sneaked upstairs, and found a bed unoccupied, and we… ah. I bid him stop, after a while, because he was hurting me, and he would not, and he had me pinned down, and I could not push him off me, and I thought he would tear me in two, and I could reach my dagger, and…”. I could feel tears gathering behind my eyes, and dropped my gaze to the floor.

            “Wait – no, it is all right. You had every right to ask him to stop. You were justified in cutting his face, if it was the only way to get him off you, certainly, and no one will condemn you for it.”

            “I said to her…” Frieda said slowly. “That she ought not to tell Agron or Nasir, for they would kill him, and then be put to death.”

            “A wise course.” he said, to Frieda. “You should not tell them.” He looked at me. “Where are they?”

            “They were in here, drinking with your father. I had thought to seek them out, but now…”

            Kristof craned his neck.

            “Tidy yourself, and cleanse yourself of blood. Then seek them out, and tell them you wish to return home.”

            “I will aid her.” Frieda said, beginning to usher me towards the back door, where some privacy could be found, and a jug of water to wash in. “Kristof, could you wait here, and ensure Jan stays away?”

            “I can.”

            With a last glance at me, Kristof turned his gaze to the tavern, and Frieda tugged me back into the yard, where she guided me to the rain-barrel and had me wash my face. I obeyed dutifully, while she tied the laces on my dress. I could feel her curiosity.

            “You went upstairs with him?”

            Why, Frieda. I thought. Why now, why not later, why not never?

            “I did.”

            “Willingly?”

            “Yes.”

            “Elena.”

            “No.”

            “Elena.”

            “I know what you will say, Frieda, and I have no wish to hear it.”

            She tugged on my braid harder than was necessary, and I told myself that the tears that sprung to my eyes were from that.

            “I wish you had not gone with him.”

            “As do I, now.”

            Her thoughts were so loud I could almost hear them, but she kept her own counsel, and worked in silence until I was presentable.

            Agron and Nasir were sitting and nodding as Ulf spoke at length. They both brightened on seeing me, and I returned a wan imitation of their smiles. Agron reached out to put an arm around me, and I shrank from his touch. I saw him retreat, resigned, and my heart ached unbearably to see the hurt I caused him, but truly I could not bear to be touched by any man, even my father. The conversation seemed to fade in and out of my hearing, but at one point I realised they were discussing the journey home from town.

              “Aye, it will be long past dark when we return at this rate.”

               “Dusk is well set in already.” Agron added.

               “We must make haste, then, if we would have any sleep before tomorrow,” Ulf drained his cup. “Come. Let us make haste.”

               “Should we offer Elena a lift in our cart?” Frieda suggested. “It is a long walk, this late in the evening.” 

              Ulf considered it as we exited the tavern. 

              “Why not! I had planned to give the horse a rest tomorrow in any case, she can manage a heavier cart.” 

              I was dimly aware of Agron offering to walk, to spare the horse, but he was waved away by Ulf. Nasir peered at me with concern as we walked to where the horse and cart were stationed.  

             “Are you quite well, Elena?” he asked. 

              “Only tired.” I demurred, and he smiled. 

              “A child, still,” he said. “I recall the first time we took you into town, and we had to carry you home – you fell asleep before we left.”

               I smiled at the memory, but was grateful for the diversion when we gained the cart and Ulf spoke up: 

              “The young ladies should sit on the front seat, with me.” he said. “Agron, Kristof, you do not mind being in the back, do you?” 

              Kristof and Agron both agreed, but I could not face a journey with Ulf, and asked to sit in the back of the cart. Surprised, Ulf agreed, and I put a hand on the back of the cart to pull myself up, but was suddenly overtaken by a rush of weariness.

            “Here.” Kristof said and, putting his hands under my armpits, he lifted me up to sit in the cart. Instead of snapping at him that I didn’t need his help, and could climb up very well by myself, I simply thanked him and moved to sit further within the cart. I rested my head on my knees, and hoped that I would be able to pass off my melancholy as weariness. In the dark, Nasir and Agron did not see the cloth of my skirt grow damp with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic sexual violence and a rape victim dealing with feelings of shame and self-blame following an attack
> 
> I envision Elena as being about seventeen or eighteen at this point, but her age is never specified, and people might read her as younger, since she was a little kid five minutes ago


	15. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena struggles to deal with the aftermath of Jan's attack, and to hide it from her parents

I feared, as the following days passed and I struggled to restrain myself from crying and flinched from any contact, that Agron and Nasir would realise that something was wrong. In my weakened state, I feared that they would be able to wheedle or cajole the truth out of me, and that they would make an attempt to avenge me. This, in truth, frightened me more than anything else. But, as Agron’s frown of concern deepened, and Nasir’s gaze, on seeing me emerge from behind the screen, having surreptitiously retreated there to wash for the third time that day, went inward, I knew how I could make them retreat. I snapped at Agron, and even at Nasir, thinking up excuses to push them away just when I needed them the most. And as Agron and Nasir both retreated, hurt, I felt more alone than I ever had before, and volunteered to take our clothes to the stream and wash them – usually my least favourite chore – just to get away from them.

               I walked further down the stream than I usually would – in the direction of Ulf’s farm – but was still taken aback to see Frieda sitting by the stream, hugging her knees and gazing unseeing at the ground. I stopped some distance away and she looked up. Instead of jumping to her feet on seeing me and greeting me, as she would usually have done, she simply stared at me for a moment before returning her gaze to the ground. I set my basket of clothes on the bank of the stream and watched her awhile before closing the short distance between us and sitting down beside her. We sat in silence, listening to the stream, before Frieda spoke.

               “When we were little, and you told me that a soldier tried to kill you but killed your mother instead, was that true?”

               A little taken aback, I had to think for a moment before replying:

               “Yes – that is, it wasn’t my mother, it was – my mother died before that, it was the woman who looked after me once she was gone who the soldier killed.”

               Frieda nodded, and lifted her gaze so she was contemplating the stream instead of the ground.

               “I’m sorry.” she said, and I wondered what she was sorry for, but then she elaborated.

               “I thought – I had been waiting so long to tell you that story – you recall, the one about the wolf who had been watching me feed the chickens? I wanted to impress you. You were so wild and daring, you almost scared me, but at the same time I wished I could be more like you. Nothing seemed to frighten you. And then, instead of being impressed, you told me this story – a much better, more frightening story – about a soldier with a sword trying to kill you, and it was – I realised then that I could never be like you, that I was too shrinking and frightened. I knew that you lied sometimes, so I convinced myself I didn’t believe you, but really I did.” She blinked, and a tear made its way down her face. “I never should have left you alone with him.”

               Resentment boiled in my chest – here she was, blaming me again, as I blamed myself – what had possessed me to sneak away with him, to bare myself to him, how could I not be to blame-

               “I thought nothing could hurt you. I thought he wouldn’t dare. But he was still a boy, and you were still just a girl. I should have protected you. I’m sorry.” She put her face on her knees and her shoulders shook with sobs. Blinking in surprise, I put my arm around her, only to realise that this was the first time I had reached out and touched another person since that fateful day. I stroked Frieda’s back and murmured soothingly, and felt suddenly stronger and less fragile. She sniffed and sat up straighter.

               “Apologies.” She pulled a clean handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her eyes with, rather than using the hem of her skirt as I would have done. “How can it be that you are the one giving comfort to me!”

               I shrugged, and smiled at her. Frieda smiled back, shakily, and we shuffled to sit closer together, arms around each other’s waists, the sides of our heads touching. I gave voice to something that had been troubling me.

               “What if I bear a child? Will I have to marry Jan?”

               Frieda seemed far less concerned with this than I was.

               “Well, if your blood fails to come we can worry about it then. There are herbs you can take to end a pregnancy, but if they don’t work – why your farm is so out of the way, you could just stay up there until the child is born and pass it off as another foundling Agron and Nasir have taken in. Of course, you could marry, and legitimise the child, but it need not be Jan. Just a young man willing to raise your child as his own.”

               “What man would agree to marry a woman whose maidenhood is gone, and raise her bastard child as his own?”

               Unexpectedly, Frieda laughed, and got to her feet.

               “I would offer to stay and help with your washing, but I fear I will be missed.” She straightened her skirts. “I will walk over to your farm and call on you some day soon. Farewell.”

               And then she was away, waving over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hill. Blinking in confusion, I saw the basket of washing out of the corner of my eye, and with a sigh, resolved to do what I had come to the stream to do.

               I was half heartedly scrubbing one of Agron’s shirts in the freezing water when I heard a cough behind me and jumped, almost letting the shirt be claimed by the slow-moving current. Looking over my shoulder I saw Kristof standing behind me, hands clasped behind his back, looking distinctly uncomfortable. I sprang to my feet, dripping stream-water all over my skirt and boots as I did so.

               “Kristof!”

               “Elena, I” Kristof looked down and shuffled his feet. “Frieda told me you might be found here.”

               “I...” I had no idea what to say. “Here I am.”

               “Yes.” Kristof looked up, and I saw that he was blushing. “I – Frieda said – she said that you were all right, that is – as all right as could be expected, that is – how are you?”

               “All right.” There was a pause, and I remembered the customary reply. “And you? How do you fare?”

               “Me? Well – I am well, that is – I wanted to say.” Kristof looked as if he were steeling himself, and I looked on in confusion.

               “Perhaps this is something you have no wish to hear – after all that has happened however” He cleared his throat. “There was a time when – I doubt we understood each other, I barely understood myself, but-“ he coughed, and I stared at him, beginning to be genuinely concerned. “Frieda said that you were worried that after – after what happened with Jan – particularly if you were to bear a child – that no man would want you.” He managed to look up and look into my eyes, and I felt a fluttering in my stomach that I vaguely remembered from... before. “I can vouch that this is not the case.”

               I frowned, trying to parse meaning from his strange, convoluted speech and – Oh! My eyes widened in surprise, and Kristof looked down.

               “I will – I will not expect an answer from you, so soon after – but if you were concerned, that after Jan, no one would have you – you have me.”

               He turned on his heel and walked away, and I stared after him, wringing Agron’s shirt distractedly in my hands. I brought the washing back and found Nasir sitting before the fire, not engaged in any task, appearing simply to be awaiting my return. I paused in the doorway, cautious.

               “Come, Elena, sit.”

               “The washing needs hung out to dry-“ I half turned to go back outside.

               “It is too cold and too late to hang it outside. Come and spread it on the hearth.”

               Reluctantly, obediently, I spread the clothes on the hearth, and hung the ones that would not fit over the back of the chair near the fire. Our task completed, I straightened up.

               “I ought to”

               “You ought to come and speak to your father, as you were bid.”

               Dread pooling in my stomach, I assumed my most defiant air and stood in front of Nasir’s chair with my arms folded.

               “What would you have me say?” I asked, scathing.

               “I would have you tell me who hurt you.”

               “No! I mean – no one hurt me, why would you-“

               “I am not a fool, Elena. You are constantly engaged in washing yourself, you flinch from every touch, you are always hiding yourself away and returning with red eyes, you aggravate and snap at us even more than usual to keep us at a distance, I know what this means”

               “How? How could you possibly know what it means?”

               Nasir blinked at me

               “Did – did you not know?”

               I scowled at him, uncomprehending, and suddenly it hit me like a thunderbolt. His reference, when I mocked him for being old, to a time when he had been prized for his youth and beauty, his silent pensiveness on seeing the change in my behaviour, as if he had been struggling to fight back demons from his own past – I threw my arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder as if I would never stop. Nasir wound his arms around me and tightened them, pulling me close, and the touch was comforting, not imprisoning. My sobbing ceased, and I gradually unwound my arms from around Nasir’s neck, fetching up kneeling at his feet as I had done when I was only a child. Nasir stroked his hand over the crown of my head, tucking my hair behind my ears, comforting.

               “Silence is poison, Elena. Give voice to your troubles, and they lose half their power.”

               I paused, resting my head on my forearm, which rested on Nasir’s thigh. He continued stroking my hair, his hand eventually trailing down to the braid hanging down my back. He played with it, winding it around his hand and letting it unfurl.

               “I went with him willingly.” I said, and Nasir froze for half a second before resuming running my braid through his hand. “I – I got frightened, and changed my mind, but it was too late.”

               Nasir said nothing for a long time.

               “Are you with child?” he asked, softly.

               “I don’t know.” I whispered, and started to cry again. I felt Nasir trembling, and realised that he was crying too.

               “At least none of them could get a child on me.” he said, sounding philosophical, and my stomach tightened at the sound of the plural. I wanted to ask, but was afraid of what I might hear.

               “We will look after you, whatever happens. And the child too, if there is one.”

               “I could always marry Kristof” I said, trying for lightness, and Nasir’s hand clenched into a fist on my back.

               “Was it him?”

               “No! No, Kristof is a good boy. A good man.” There was a pause, in which Nasir did not move

               “Are you certain?”

               “Yes.”

               “Will you tell me who it was?”

               “No.”

               "Why not?"

               "You will seek him out and punish him, or seek to have him brought before the council, or..."

               "Hush" Nasir had ceased in stroking my hair as I grew more distressed, and I felt his hand hover over my head, cautiously "We will do nothing absent your bidding, I swear it."

               "Can you swear that Agron will do nothing absent my bidding?"

               There was a pause, in which Nasir returned to stroking my hair.

               "I... I will have care how I tell him. I will impress upon him the importance of your consent. He is a good man. He will understand."

               We sat in silence for a while

               “You love Agron.” I said, feeling that there was a question I wanted to ask, but unable to articulate it.

               “Of course I do, why would I not-“ Nasir broke off, seemingly realising my question at the same time that I did. He continued, gently:

               “It was difficult, at first. I wanted to- but struggled to... to understand my wanting of something that had only ever been forced on me. But he was gentle, and patient, and...” Nasir was clearly conscious of not wishing to tell me too much. “It need not spoil it for the rest of your life. But you must give yourself time, and – and find for yourself a partner who will be kind and gentle.”

              I nodded, and rested my forehead against my forearm again, gritting my teeth against a sudden pain in my lower abdomen. As the pain faded, I became aware of Nasir, still expectant.

              "You aren't going to tell me, are you." he said, sounding resigned.

              "Not tonight" I replied, standing and making my way to the door.

Throughout our conversation, I had been ignoring the cramping in my lower abdomen, but as Nasir retreated to stoke the fire and I stepped outside to get some air, I dared to let myself hope. It marked the first time I had welcomed the sight of blood in my undergarments, and a great weight which I had been barely aware of was lifted from my shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So most of the massive delay between the posting of Journey and Home was because I struggled with the ending - the ending of Home, which is also the end of the trilogy. I wrote the last chapter (chapter 14) relatively early on in the writing process, then didn't like it, but once it was written it felt "locked in" in my head and I couldn't think of another ending - it seemed to create a mental block. So basically I'm way happier with everything up to chapter 13 than I am with everything afterwards, but after four and a half years it was time to accept that an imperfect thing that is actually written is still better than the perfect thing that you never wrote. If inspiration strikes I may go back and rewrite the last few chapters, but having put up chapter 14 already I figured I owed the people who read it an ending to this version of the story


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time later, Nasir contemplates the life the three of them have led in Germania
> 
> Warning: POV switch, random switch to third person because... epilogue

Frieda and Elena were sitting before the fire, talking. Agron had cast his eyes heavenward when Frieda entered – he had never taken to the girl, disliking how she teased his beloved daughter, and told her she was strange. Nasir, however, had always had a soft spot for her. She may tell Elena, frankly, when she thought her odd, but she always accepted her in her oddness. The two of them had quarrelled many times over the preceding years, but Frieda never pushed Elena away as some of the other children did, and would always insist that Elena was included in their games. She had always accepted Elena, and been kind to her – even when she was a filthy, rag-clad beggar child who did not speak German, Frieda had shared her doll with her and played with her. When Elena wanted to play in the mud, or fight with swords, or paddle in the stream, green with algae, Frieda had always wrinkled her nose and declined, but did not reject Elena for her unnatural, unfeminine inclinations towards getting dirty and wet.

               He did think, and with a hint of strange pride, that Elena was more beautiful than Frieda. Frieda had the blonde hair which was much admired in this region, and was not an ugly girl, but her features, he thought, were not quite so fine as Elena’s. And Elena’s unusual colouring – the blueness of her eyes and fairness of her skin, combined with her dark hair, was more striking than Frieda’s. They spoke of Frieda’s upcoming wedding.

               “Will it not pain you, to no longer live in your parents’ house?”

               “I will still see them sometimes. And I will like to have my own house, and be able to run it myself, and plan my own days, without interference from my mother.”

               Elena looked up at Nasir. He met her gaze and shrugged. He and Agron had always practiced a kind of benign neglect as parents, and had never thought anything of it. It was difficult to worry too much about a child hardy enough to survive living in a war zone for almost two years, and her freedom acted as compensation for her never having the fine clothes and numerous toys that Frieda had, and for having to work on the farm.

               “Who are you going to marry, Elena?” Frieda asked, and Nasir almost dropped the whetstone he held. He knew that Elena was of an age to marry, and that she was popular with the young men in the town – why, after one of them had tried to force himself on her, his friends had all turned on him, punishing him by nailing him into a barrel and rolling it down the hill, and then ducking his head into the freezing pond at the bottom. But he had thought they had a few years left before she married and left them. Or she might not. She had been skittish around men since... the unpleasantness, sticking close to Agron and Nasir, or to Frieda and her family, whenever they ventured into the town. Other parents wanted their girls married off as soon as possible, so they were spared the expense of them, but Elena was a great help to them, and did as much work on the farm as a man. If she wanted to remain an old maid, and live on the farm and take care of them in their old age, they would not object.

               “I am not going to marry!” Elena scoffed. “Who would have me?”

               Though he could not help but feel relieved that Elena did not plan to leave them at present, Nasir thought that any of the idiotic farmboys in the surrounding area would be lucky to have her for his wife.

               “Kristof would.”

               “Kristof!”

               “If you married him, we would be sisters.”

               Agron might object to that, Nasir thought.

               “Sisters quarrel, and pull each other’s hair, and steal each other’s clothes. You know as well as I do, Frieda, we are sisters already!”

               Nasir heard Frieda scoff, and knew without looking up that the girl was shaking her head at Elena’s stupidity.

               “Kristof stands to inherit one of the biggest farms in the region. And this one, too.” she said, looking around the tiny house, which had been home to them for many years. “It would be good for your fathers if their daughter was married to their landlord’s son.”

               “And if their daughter refuses their landlord’s son? What then? Will he use power to avenge his wounded heart?”

               “You speak of _Kristof_! He would never do such a thing, would always treat you and your family fairly, as long as rent is paid on time and buildings kept in good repair.”

               Elena, Nasir saw, was looking at Frieda with narrowed eyes.

               “You may tell your brother.” she said with great dignity. “That I will never marry a man who sends his sister to do his wooing for him.”

               Nasir snorted with laughter, and Frieda looked up.

               “Can you see what you are doing?” she asked. “Should I light the candle?”

               “I can see well enough.”

               “We have only three candles left.” Elena confided. “And not coin enough to buy more, until the kids are grown enough to sell. And then, only if we get a good price for them, which we may not.” She laughed. “You can tell Kristof that that is my bride-price. If he gives Agron and Nasir a dozen candles, he can have my hand in marriage!”

               “We would miss you, even with two dozen candles to keep us company.” Nasir said, rising from his seat and kissing the top of Elena’s head. He crossed the room, and knelt before the fire to throw more wood on it. He felt her gaze on the back of his head, and turned to find her studying him.

               “What is it?” he asked.

               “Would you really be unhappy if I married, and left you?”

               “We would miss you greatly, yet we would be more unhappy if you wished to leave and remained here with us out of misplaced sense of duty.”

               “Do you not need me to help you run the farm?”

               “You are a great help, yet we could find a way to run it without you.”

               Frieda had been listening.

               “Will you marry Kristof, then?”

               “Let him ask me himself, and he shall receive answer. I shall give none to _you_.”

               Fuck the Gods, Nasir thought. She means to accept him! He straightened up, and left the house to go and find Agron, who was herding the goats back into their pen.

               “Thickheaded fucking-” he exclaimed, grabbing an errant kid. “Return to the pen, you fucking idiot! There is food in there!” 

              Depositing the kid in the pen, Agron turned to Nasir.

               “Is she yet within?” he asked, indicating the house.

               “If you refer to Frieda, answer is yes.” Nasir replied.

               Agron groaned.

               “Ah, well. Evening is pleasant. We can sit out here for a time, until she goes.”

               “One of us should escort her home. A young woman should not wander country paths unaccompanied after dark.”

               “Elena does so all the time!”

               “Yet Frieda does not. Her father, our _landlord,_ would not approve.”

               Agron made a dismissive noise, and sat on a large log which had been dragged out of the woodpile and set against the wall of the house for use as a seat. Nasir remained standing, leaning against the wall next to Agron.

               “Frieda says that Kristof is in love with Elena, and will ask for her hand in marriage.” Nasir said. He looked down, to see Agron looking amused.

               “You did not know?”

              “Did not – you _knew_? How?”

               “Have you not eyes in your head? He follows her around like a loyal dog, hangs on her every word, and his eyes are always upon her.” He smiled. “As mine were always upon you, after I first saw you.”

               Nasir smiled, and looked out into the distance, thinking back into the past.

               “You press fortune.” he recited. “Glaring so, at the slayer of Theokeles.”

               Agron laughed.

               “ “His victory but proving even giants fall.” I believe my heart was lost to you from that moment.”

               “So soon after I made attempt on life of your best friend and commander!”

               “I told myself it was not so, would not allow myself to feel… tenderly towards you, until you proved yourself, and threw your lot in with us once and for all. Yet I believe there was some space in my heart where you had taken room, even when your loyalties seemed doubtful.”

               “Would you yet slay all who would lay attempt to wrest me from your arms?”

               “Absent hesitation.” Agron pulled on Nasir’s wrist, and pulled him into his lap. After struggling for a few short moments, Nasir accepted his fate and slid his arms around Agron’s neck, as Agron’s wound round his waist. There was a pause, as they breathed each other in, and lost themselves in memories.

               “And if Kristof lays attempt to wrest Elena from our arms?”

               Agron laughed. “It does not stand the same. Elena is our daughter, and will remain so if she takes a husband. We will not lose her.”

               “We will.” Nasir said, and Agron did not correct him.

               “Though she is not ours by blood, it is us to whom Kristof must apply for her hand.” Nasir said. He drew back, that he might look at Agron. “Would you give it to him?”

               Agron shrugged his shoulders.

               “You know as well as I that we will do as Elena commands. If she wants to marry him, we will allow it, if she does not, we will refuse him.”

               “Do you think she wants to marry him?”

               “Perhaps. She has more time for him than the other boys.”

               Nasir rested his head on Agron’s shoulder, and lost himself in thought for several long moments.

               “I think she does.”

               “Really?”

               “She told Frieda to tell him to come and woo her himself, rather than send his sister. If she held no interest in him, she would have told Frieda to bid him stay away.”

               “Then it seems we will lose her.”

               “She is only, what – nineteen? And Kristof is older.”

               “Not by much. Four years? And he will not marry for a few years yet – not until his father has built another house for himself and his wife to retire in.”

               “Oh!” Nasir said. “So she will bide with us a while longer.”

               “A while. But not indefinitely.”

               Nasir pressed his face into Agron’s neck, and Agron reached up and stroked his hair.

               “Do you think he is worthy of her?” Nasir asked

               “No. No father thinks any man is worthy of his little girl. But he will be good to her, and know that she is more than he deserves, and that will satisfy me.” He turned to Nasir. “And you?”

               Nasir looked out at the farm they had worked for the past twelve years, the woods where Agron and Elena hunted with their bows, the stream where they fished. He could not see, in the darkness, the huddle of roofs where the town was, where their friends dwelled. He could hear laughter from inside the house, where his daughter was doubtless horrifying her friend with her idle, careless chatter. And he could feel the heat of Agron’s body, the strength of his arms, and the weakness of his hands.

               “If he brings her as much happiness as you have brought to me.” he said. “That will satisfy me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it. There are some little snippets I've written which might make their way up someday, but this is the end of the trilogy.
> 
> Thank you for reading


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